


Half The World Away

by Elleh



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Magic, Magic-Users, Prince And Mage AU, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 17:07:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10768674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleh/pseuds/Elleh
Summary: “The king and queen have arranged it— you will be sent to marry the prince of the Southern Lands to secure peace.”Oikawa delivers his message without a flinch, his gaze glued to the side of Hajime’s throne like any mage’s supposed to do. Mages do not look directly to their royal family.Oikawa has never been one to follow protocol, though. Maybe, realising he’s actually following it now is what makes Hajime’s heart skip a beat.“Is that it? You come and tell me you are all marrying me off to some random person?”Oikawa grimaces, “He’s not random,” with a sigh, Oikawa finally,finally, meets Hajime’s gaze.“I didn’t agree to this.”Hajime growls when Oikawa snorts at him. “As if that mattered,” the cold hit of that sentence does something nasty to Hajime’s stomach. “You are the son of the King, you don’t get to decide these things.”





	1. Autumn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, let me be honest: this is a fucking weird fic. I started it just to write something light and easy, but as it always is with me, it got fucking complicated before I knew what was going on. I don't want to discourage anyone from reading this —lol, I wouldn't post it if I didn't want people to read it, right—, but I feel like I have to warn you? As in: please be aware of where you're getting in to. The thing is, this was supposed to be kept simple but it didn't, and at the end the main pair doesn't appear as much as they should lol.
> 
> Anyway, if you're still interested in trying, PLEASE DO. I still like it very much and I'm planning to write not only a follow up of IwaOi but three more side stories (will reveal what otps at the end of the 5th chapter).
> 
> Also, this is already finished, so I will post all of it together. (As in, as fast as I can prepare the chapters to be upload, so it might take some hours, lol, but not later than today for sure). 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it.
> 
>  
> 
> Ps. This whole thing started out of a prompt I got out of [this tumblr](http://fanficy-prompts.tumblr.com/) (the first sentence comes from there, basically). 
> 
> Ps.II. the title of the fic comes from this song: [Half The World Away](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SYKU7DfEJT4).

  
  


“The king and queen have arranged it— you will be sent to marry the prince of the Southern Lands to secure peace.”

Oikawa delivers his message without a flinch, his gaze glued to the side of Hajime’s throne like any mage’s supposed to do. Mages do not look directly to their royal family. 

Oikawa has never been one to follow protocol, though. Maybe, realising he’s actually following it now is what makes Hajime’s heart skip a beat. 

“Is that it? You come and tell me you are all marrying me off to some random person?”

Oikawa grimaces, “He’s not random,” with a sigh, Oikawa finally, _finally_ , meets Hajime’s gaze. 

“I didn’t agree to this.”

Hajime growls when Oikawa snorts at him. “As if that mattered,” the cold hit of that sentence does something nasty to Hajime’s stomach. “You are the son of the King, you don’t get to decide these things.”

“I should,” Hajime whispers, his heart a bit wounded. The childish wish lingers in Hajime’s lips, making the silence long and thick.

“Haj—,” Oikawa bites his tongue, the name cut by half. Hajime feels it in his skin, the distance. They are not allowed to say each other names anymore, the reality of their dead friendship a gravestone at their feet. Hajime just wants to flee.

“Your highness,” it burns, the fire that has destroyed the last bridge that connected them. “I know it’s difficult to—”

“What would you know,” he snaps, his voice full of venom. “You’ve delivered your message. Leave. Now.”

Oikawa’s eyes are filled with will, brown shinning with rage and sadness. _I’m not leaving_ , but Hajime’s word is law. Hajime has to close his eyes at the sight of Oikawa’s back getting away from him. 

The only choice he has ever made was him. And that, too, he has to give away.

 

The blades cut the air and the light, Hajime’s sweat like rain drops against the floor.

He’s panting to the verge of pain. The muscles of his right arm are itching and throbbing. They have been for almost an hour now, but Hajime doesn’t want to stop. Can’t stop. The dull pain of his breathing, the intense pain of the effort are numbing his brain and clouding his mind. 

_Fuck thinking_ , Hajime wants to scream, but he’s so overworked he can’t barely move his lips. The absolute tiredness is so welcoming he almost lets Issei’s sword get through his neck. 

“Pay attention or I will behead you next time.”

“That wouldn’t be that bad,” Hajime manages to say between sore breaths. “Then you will have to marry a stranger instead of me.”

So much for not thinking. Shit. 

Issei stares at Hajime for half a second, holding his defensive position. The blade stays still in the air, although they’ve been training for almost two hours, although they are exhausted beyond repair by now. 

When he takes the sword down, Hajime has to hold the urge to throw his own sword against his brother’s chest. “Take stance,” Issei shakes his head. “Attack me, I say!”

“We’ve been fighting enough. I think it’s time to talk.”

“If I wanted to talk,” Hajime pants, “I would have gone to mother. Or father. Or the damn lady selling flowers on the corner!”, taking a step back, Hajime gets into attack stance. “I do not want to talk.”

Issei throws the sword to the ground, —the damn bastard, he knows Hajime would never fight an unarmed opponent,— and shakes his head. “I think you need to, big brother.”

Hajime turns around and throws his sword against the wooden wall of the training arena. It stabs it with such strength, it almost crosses it from side to side. The handle quivers at the pair with Hajime’s chest.

“Are you ready to talk now?” Issei mocks, an eyebrow arched. 

“I don’t want to talk!” Hajime closes his fists and tries to bit his tongue, but he’s too tired. “I’m mad at you too! I’m mad at mother and father! And the fucking rules of this damned place! I’m mad at Oikawa for being such a fucking idiot! And to the loser I will have to marry! I’m pissed! So there’s no fucking point; talking won’t do anything.”

Issei shakes his head. “What,” Hajime snaps. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Mad’s not the word I would use.”

“Did I ask what you would use?”

“Hajime,” the soft voice makes bile come to Hajime’s mouth. “You really need to talk with them.”

“Didn’t you hear me?”, he intends to be arrogant and condescending, but the panic in his voice it’s obvious even to his own ears. He’s starting to lose it. 

“I hear you and I see you,” Issei stares at him for a second more. “But… do you?” 

Hajime stares blankly at Issei. “I… don’t know what you mean.”

Issei has a sad smile plastered in his lips. Hajime doesn’t know what to do with it. “Yeah, I figured.”

 

“We are planning a ball,” his mother announces that night at dinner. “To celebrate your upcoming marriage, Hajime.”

Hajime, who has barely eaten anything, has to swallow hard to avoid throwing up the small content of his stomach. “What?”

“It will happen next month,” she continues, as if he hasn’t said anything. Issei’s watching him with a weird look in his eyes. “I want you to make a list of political guests. Your father has one already, but—”

“We know you have more view than I do, son,” the sweet voice of his father does nothing but enrage Hajime’s already furious soul. 

“Just like that?” Hajime’s question is soft and low. 

“What did you say, honey?”

“Just like that?!”, he repeats, standing now. “You don’t even have the decency to tell me yourselfs you are marrying me off?”

The silence that follows cuts more than Hajime’s blade. 

“Hajime—“

“I thought—,” Hajime’s words are gone, a stone stuck in his throat. He’s not even sure he’s breathing anymore, although his chest is moving faster and faster, although his mind is getting more clouded by the second. “How could you not even ask me?”

No one answers, because the answer is as obvious as Hajime’s distress. 

When Hajime storms out of the room after his parents fail to say anything at all, he crashes with Oikawa. He has been standing in the door’s frame for god knows how long, a silken package in his hands. Mages are not allowed to stare directly to their royal family but Oikawa is watching Hajime with such intensity, as if proclaiming _I don’t care about rules or about standard. This is what I want, this is what I do._

That will just makes Hajime’s already hurting heart free-fall to the darkness of numb pain. Oikawa, with his conviction, has chosen to work against Hajime’s freedom, and the knowledge of it hurts even more than his lost will.

_I hate you! I hate you!_

Hajime doesn’t say it but Oikawa’s not a magic being for nothing. When he flinches and steps away from his prince, Hajime knows he’s seen the darkness of his inner thoughts.

When he walks away from them all, Hajime lies to himself.

_I don’t care, I don’t need to love any of them anyway._

The next weeks are the lonelier he has ever lived, but in the cloud of detachment he has sat himself in, he barely acknowledges it. 

 

Hajime would have been fine if Oikawa hasn’t happened. Again.

Oikawa happening is always what sets Hajime off balance. He should have remembered it, because not even distance and protocol could make Oikawa Tooru learn his place. 

“We have to plan the ball together,” Oikawa announces a sunny morning, invading Hajime’s private breakfast.

“No.”

“It’s not a request,” Oikawa’s staring at him, but Hajime can’t bring himself to care.

“Of course it isn’t. When has anyone asked me?”

Oikawa clenches his jaw, trying to hold his words. “You are being unreasonable, Your Highness.”

“I’m sure that’s how it looks like, yes,” Hajime’s surprised by the venom in his own voice. He has never been this bitter of a person, but once again, he has never been forced to give his life away like this. 

Oikawa sits without asking permission, another broken rule Hajime doesn’t bother to point out. The huge amount of papers he puts atop the table makes Hajime grimace. 

“The ball’s not the only thing we need to work on.”

“Of course not. I’m marrying a Southern after all,” Hajime says with sour in his tongue. Oikawa blinks in surprise, and Hajime grunts. “What? I’m not stupid, I know how politic works.”

“I—didn’t think otherwise. I just—,” Oikawa’s staring too much, even for him. “I thought you didn’t want to get married.”

“I don’t.”

The _but I have to, because that’s what you and my parents have decided_ floats in the air between them. Oikawa finally takes his eyes away, probably overwhelmed by the guilt of his power over Hajime’s life.

Funny, how even being royal, Oikawa has more power over Hajime’s destiny than himself. 

“Haji—,” Oikawa curses under his nose. “Your highness, you have to know I didn’t—”

“I don’t want your excuses,” Hajime cuts him with a sharp movement of his hand. He can’t barely look at him. Oikawa swallows the hit with his usual proud porte and Hajime allows it, because they don’t have the right to call out each other’s bullshit anymore. 

“Let’s get to business, then,” Oikawa separates the mountain of papers in three even blocks and gives Hajime the first one. “These are your enemies,” he takes the second block and alines it with the first one, “these your father’s,” when Oikawa takes the third one, Hajime’s furrow has taken over his expression. “And these your future husband’s.”

“I imagine you don’t have another pile laying around with my friends, do you.”

Oikawa smiles, that arrogant, full-of-himself smile Hajime knows so well, and he loses his breath for a second. It’s been ages since the last time he has seen it and it doesn’t sit well with him, realising he still cares for a friendship that has no place in this world he lives in. 

“There you go,” Oikawa handles him a single paper, folded in half. Hajime can’t take his eyes away from Oikawa’s gaze. The offering weights like a dead body, a paper with barely any lines in it. Hajime’s not sure he can force himself to take it, even less look at it. “Take it, it’s yours.”

“You can keep it.”

Oikawa leaves it on the table, near Hajime’s hand. “You shouldn’t dismiss your friends like that, Your Highness.”

“Really?” Hajime grins, until his cheeks hurt. Oikawa seems fascinated by the perversion of it. “My own experience seems to differ.”

Tooru leans back, the hit too hard for him to take in like he usually does. His eyes are wide open with surprise, pain as clear as water. Hajime has to close his hand in a tight fist to control his own emotions. He might feel a bit guilty by the unfairness of it, but fuck it. Tooru didn’t care, when he betrayed him first.

“Let’s finish this. I don’t want for this wedding to get delayed.”

Oikawa doesn’t say anything, finally following protocol. He doesn’t look at Hajime anymore, he doesn’t answer at Hajime if Hajime doesn’t directly ask him to do so. Oikawa has closed the doors to his personal palace, and as much as Hajime delights in it, dammit, how much it hurts. 

 

Issei’s not helping much, either. Although, to be true, no one’s helping shit, lately. 

It could also have something to do with Hajime’s constant pissed off mood, but Hajime’s not one to recognise his own faults when he’s in such state of mind. He hasn’t talked with his parents since The Dinner, or with Oikawa since The Breakfast. Hajime’s starting to develop an understandable fear for meals. 

When Issei takes over his lunch, Hajime decides, once and for all, he’s not gonna eat anything else anymore. Ever. 

“I need your advice.”

“Get lost.”

“Big brother, this is important,” Issei’s grin says otherwise. 

Hajime wants to scream. “I’m eating. Come later.”

Issei expression shifts a bit, something weird flashes in his eyes. Hajime doesn’t want to care, but damn it, he’s such an emotional shit. “What,” he barks.

“I just—,” Issei sighs and sits down, a smile plastered in his face. Hajime’s not buying any of it, but says nothing. “You won’t be here… much longer.”

That doesn’t sit well with Hajime and his lunch, that gets discarded as soon as Issei’s words die in the silence. Hajime wishes he wasn’t being such a nasty, petty thing right now, so he could comfort his brother. But as things are, Hajime just wants to take the table and throw it out of the window. And then maybe throw Issei after it. And Oikawa.

He also wants to go to his mother and ask in sobs why would she do this to him, but as things are, Hajime can do nothing. He barely blinks at Issei, who’s less than ten months his younger, who besides Oikawa, has been Hajime’s best friend since forever. 

If Hajime weren’t so full of himself, maybe he would have realised sooner this damned marriage wasn’t only fucking up his reality. 

“I won’t live on the south forever,” Hajime lies with ease. He’s surprised, by how easy the words fall from his mouth. “And you can still come visit.”

Issei’s smile is one Hajime knows well. _I’m your other half,_ he seems to say, _I know you as well as you know yourself_. 

Maybe the lies are not for Issei, but for himself. 

“If you go to the south, I will have to become the successor prince. I won’t have time for social visits.”

“Maybe we should just start a war,” Hajime says in a blur. “That way I won’t have to go to the south to get married.”

“No,” Issei’s shaking his head. “You will have to go south to die. I would rather have you alive in the south, than dead.”

Those words do something weird. They reach Hajime’s core in a single blow. A dam Hajime didn’t even know he had built crashes into pieces, and the full river of Hajime’s emotions get lost in his body, out of control.

“So, it’s better for me to be alive and unhappy because of their choices, than dead and free by my own will,” Hajime stands up and looks at Issei, as if he’s seeing him for the first time. “It’s good to know.”

“Hajime—, wait, I didn’t mean—”

“How can you?”, he’s so hurt, dammit. So fucking hurt. The betrayal runs through his veins like venom, and he doesn’t even know how to stop it from spreading everywhere. “How can you? You should know it better than anyone else, Issei. How it feels to have your life handled as if it didn’t belong to you, as if it wasn’t a person who’s living it.”

Issei looks down, ashamed. 

“I thought—” Hajime can’t even finish his sentence. 

“I don’t want you to go, either,” Issei says with covered rage. “Do you think this makes me happy? I’m not happy.”

“Yeah, seems hard, staying here and living the life you know, with the choices you make.”

“Now you are the one being unfair,” Issei says, his eyes locked with Hajime’s. “I can’t— You know I can’t—”

Hajime knows, but he can’t bring himself to care. “You will still be here, where you belong. You will still have stolen moments. I won’t have anything at all.”

He turns around and leaves his little brother shaking, filled with guilt that doesn’t belong to him. Hajime knows that and he regrets his steps as soon as he takes them. And yet, he doesn’t undo them. He can’t go back. Nor to Issei, nor to Oikawa. 

There’s no point in going back, because the past is already gone. 

And his future, already decided. 

 

  
The day before the ball, where Hajime will meet his future husband for the first time, he gets dead drunk. 

In other circumstances, he would have had three other shadows around him, probably drinking as much, probably drinking even more, forcing Hajime to take care of the three of them. As things are, Hajime doesn’t need to restrain himself anymore, and with a lone toast to the air, he lies, telling himself he doesn’t need them here, anyway. 

The booze’s not the best thing for lies, though. After the first empty bottle hits the ground, Hajime is in misery land and he hates it. He’s whining around, talking to his pillow, to his chair and finally to himself across the mirror. It’s a bad idea, for the Hajime in the other side looks like shit and pretty, pretty sad. 

He’s scared he will never forget what a pitiful sight he makes, but once the second bottle finds its way to his hand, all Hajime’s problems seem to vanish. It’s not until half of it is gone, Hajime realises what a big mistake this was. 

Stability’s not a thing he understands anymore, chairs and tables and what the fuck are all these swords doing, flying around his room? Hajime trips over them and falls and then he curses every one of them, using their names. Using names while you curse makes things feel more important, you see, so when the line of tables and chairs and swords finishes, Hajime starts to curse other things. 

For long five minutes —it could have been ten—, Hajime curses Oikawa. He uses every insult and epithet he knows and then he makes up some more, just to enjoy cursing the damn bastard. (The way Oikawa’s name rolls in his tongue and the pleasure Hajime finds in it might have had something to do with that too.)

Hajime has traveled farther than Saturn in his head–spinning adventure trying to get up from the floor, when a knock sounds at the door. He’s way too far gone in his desperate need to stand to even hear it, so when the knock goes again, and again, and again without answer, the visitor lets himself in.

The curse Hajime let’s out when he sees Oikawa is louder than any one before, and that’s saying something. “What the—”

Oikawa’s staring at him. Hajime recalls he shouldn’t have, but he can barely form the words to let him know so. “Hajime–chan, what are you doing.”

It’s soft and sweet and pained, and gods help him, Hajime has missed his voice so much he actually feels it in his skin. “Don’t look at me,” Hajime blurts, he doesn’t even know how. 

Oikawa takes a second to comply, and Hajime hates his drunken self to actually order it. He doesn’t leave, though, and Hajime’s so happy by that he manages to sit. 

It’s not a good idea. The room starts to spin faster and Hajime’s scared he’s actually moving with it. In his rush to make the world stop, he ends up putting his hand just atop one of the blades, cutting himself.

He doesn’t register the pain but he frowns deeply at the sight of the blood running from his hand to the floor. “Oh.”

“Shit, Hajime, are you—,” Oikawa kneels before Hajime and takes his hand, worry covering his expression. “It’s deep. You are such a reckless brute, you know that?”

“You shouldn’t talk to me like that,” Hajime lets him know. 

Oikawa looks at him, all cocky. “Like what?” 

“Like—like this,” Hajime, who’s not the best with words sober, just sucks at them while drunk, and Oikawa seems to enjoy it more than anyone else. 

“Like this, how?”

 _Why do you care, how? You shouldn’t,_ Hajime thinks with frustration. 

Instead, he says, “Like you and I are equals.”

It’s mean, although Hajime’s pretty sure Oikawa takes it in the wrong way. Hajime wants to clarify: _you have power over your own life, even over mine, while I have none._ He wants to tell Oikawa: _I thought we were friends, but you had a choice and I didn’t. You chose yourself, while I would have always chosen you first because I thought you would have done the same._ Hajime has so much he wants to say, but that want it’s just a drunken’s dream, so he let’s Oikawa have his own version of what Hajime meant. 

“Come on, Your Highness, let’s get you to bed, so I can heal your wound.”

“Don’t call me that,” Hajime snaps, rage clouding his eyes. 

Oikawa’s patience seems to reach its limit with that order. He let’s go of Hajime’s arms and stands, tall and proud. “What do you want me to call you, then?”

“Not that.”

“We are not equals, right?” Oikawa throws it back at him and it hurts. Hajime will be ashamed tomorrow, but now he can only get mad at him for being so petty. 

“Of course we are not!”, he tries to kick Oikawas shin, and when he fails, Hajime grunts, loud. “You betrayed me!”

“No, I didn’t,” the mage hisses. Oikawa’s as enraged as Hajime is, which makes no sense. 

“Of course you did,” Hajime chuckles although it’s not funny at all. “You sold me away to the Southern Lands. You sold me away. From your side. You didn’t fight for me. You never have,” the world isn’t spinning as fast but Hajime’s chest is doing that weird thing again, when it gets too tight and he can barely breathe. “You left me.”

Oikawa stares at him, breathing deep breaths that doesn’t seem to be helping him much. “I’m here, aren’t I.” He’s still mad, but Hajime doesn’t bother recognising it. 

“Are you? You weren’t here at the beginning of the night, you weren’t here when I was alone day after day.”

“You chose to be alone, Hajime. Don’t hang that on me.”

Hajime feels the thing in his chest move. It’s expanding, like a sickness. “I thought you would be here forever. I thought you would be on my side forever.”

Oikawa’s shaking his head before Hajime can even finish. “That was never an option, Hajime. I’m a mage. I was born to serve you.”

“I never cared about that.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Tooru’s laugh is empty and cold and sharp. Hajime hates it. “You had power. You are the prince! You have the power to do whatever you like!”

It’s Hajime’s turn to laugh, although he’s far from happiness. “How? I’m getting sent away! I have no power over anything, Tooru! I don’t— I don’t want power at all. I just wanted—,” _you_. But he can’t say it, because although he’s drunk, he still has a bit of self-preservation left. 

“I’m a mage,” Tooru repeats, although his breathing is shallow now, although his eyes are everywhere except Hajime. “I have a duty to fulfil.”

“And that duty forced you to reject me?” Hajime’s voice’s small and scared, a child’s broken-heart. “I just wanted you to be my friend,” and there it is, the absolute truth. Distance started to shape centuries ago, or so it seems. Hajime has been missing Tooru since the beginning of it. Maybe earlier than that. 

“Hajime, I— I can’t,” he’s watching Hajime, now, and Hajime doesn’t like one bit what’s hidden in Tooru’s eyes. He can’t understand any of it, maybe because of the booze, maybe because Tooru has grown too far away from Hajime, finally becoming a stranger.

When Tooru turns to leave, Hajime finds himself grabbing his shin. They both freeze, surprised by the sudden movement. “Please,” the plea leaves Hajime’s lips in a whisper. “Just stay tonight. Please? I don’t— I don’t want… to be alone.”

 

Hajime wakes up before the sun rises. The sky’s not pitch black anymore, the tints of light turning it blue in the horizon. He stares at it for long minutes, the steady breathing at his back a lullaby to his headache and his heartache. 

Tooru’s not touching him much. Hajime must be drunk still, to let the knowledge affect him. Oikawa is not but a touchy, cuddling person. Feeling the tension in his sleeping body shows enough how far they’ve gone from each other. And shit, it hurts.

Hajime turns around and faces him, because he doesn’t have self-control anymore. He tries to remember the last time they were like this: two kids in a prince bed, breaking all the rules. Hajime’s old enough now to understand everyone in the palace had known it and had allowed it, but at the time they felt like heroes and warriors. They had a mission and every time that mission found its end in Hajime’s sheet-fort, they felt like champions.

Tooru’s sleeping expression shifts. Hajime, who’s impulse control has long vanished, finds himself caressing Tooru’s frown, Tooru’s eyebrows, Tooru’s cheekbones. It’s barely a touch, but it’s enough to make Tooru’s eyelids flutter open. 

They stare at each other, closer than they’ve been in ages. Hajime recalls he has almost forgotten how many tones of brown hide in Tooru’s eyes and the mere thought makes him grimace. The first time they kissed had been a day like this, just before the world crashed and put them both in different sides of the river. They had been fighting against the shadows of the castle with wooden swords and had ran up to Hajime’s bedroom in a rush, as if a dragon had been following them.

Hajime remembers the speed of his heartbeats, the tight feeling of his chest due to adrenaline and euphoria. They both had had thrown themselves into the bed and had hidden under the sheets, their safe place. Hajime can even hear their laughs, matching in hysteria. And then the silence, thick and big and full of tension Hajime didn’t understand very well at the moment. 

Tooru had been blushing, the run and the excitement of the chase still clear in his eyes. Hajime had stared at him, really, really stared. The light, the ups and downs of his chest, his ruffled hair. The sheets, covering them, as if they were in their secret world, where everything was allowed, where rules and kings and mages and princes were just stories to tell. 

Hajime recalls how easy it had been, how natural. When their lips had touched, something in Hajime’s brain had clicked. _Ah_ , he remembers thinking, _this is it_. Hajime never really understood what _it_ meant, but he had known, deep down his core. That moment had enough power to light up a lifetime. 

When Hajime had kissed Tooru under his sheets at the age of fourteen, the world had rightened itself. 

“Stop it,” Tooru says then, moving his chin, making Hajime’s hand fall from his memories. 

Hajime can’t take his eyes away, from the past, from the present. 

“This is not what I wanted,” Hajime confesses. He’s scared Tooru won’t understand. 

“I know,” but of course Tooru understands. He has always been the only one to do so. “I know.”

Hajime has so many questions. Whys and whats and hows and more whys. Hajime hasn’t allowed himself to be in a close and private world with Tooru since that kiss. Since Tooru kissed him back and then, turned his back on him. 

“I can’t,” Tooru says, although Hajime hasn’t asked anything at all. “Hajime, I can’t.”

“Just once,” Hajime finds himself asking, begging. He doesn’t even know what it is, he’s pleading for. “Just this once, before— Before I go forever.”

Tooru closes his eyes, as if he’s in deep pain. “This won’t help anyone. This won’t make tomorrow easier.”

“Please…” Hajime whispers while he moves closer and a bit closer and then his hands are in Tooru’s waist and then in his arms and then his neck. Tooru still has his eyes closed, as if afraid of the reality of Hajime’s plea. “Please.”

He’s a sigh away from Tooru’s lips when he asks again. Hajime can feel Tooru trembling, the shallow of his breathing shaping Hajime’s skin through the tips of his fingers. His heartbeat runs together with Tooru’s gasping, the world warm and kind. Hajime thinks, _if I had known my bed would break the distance, I would have been hiding here all this time._

“Tooru, please,” Hajime’s still not sure what he’s asking with such longing. Is it Tooru himself? Is it the past, long gone? Is it Hajime’s future, long stolen? Tooru holds the absolute power and maybe that’s what Hajime yearns for: to taste it, just for a little bit. 

Tooru moves closer and Hajime catches his breath. When their foreheads touch, their noses clash, Hajime hears himself exhale a trembling breath. They are the closer they’ve ever been, Hajime’s heart probably open in half and bleeding out between them. _This is what I could have had, but duty got in the way_. Duty and parents and Oikawa Tooru, who’s here now, but who’s sending Hajime away as soon as they leave this place. 

“This won’t make it easier,” Tooru warns, eyes still closed. “You think it will, but it won’t.”

Hajime’s not sure what Tooru’s talking about, because the booze might still be traveling through his system, because he might be drunk in anticipated excitement. 

“Are you here because I commanded you to?” Hajime asks, fear and impatience building up. Tooru’s eyes open as if hit, and his frown tells Hajime everything he needs to know.

“I would never do anything I don’t want to do, Hajime,” the truth hurts, because it applies to every aspect of Tooru’s life. 

But now, here, where life’s hanging from the stolen hours before sunrise, Hajime doesn’t care. 

“Then,” Hajime’s hand finds its way to Tooru’s cheek. “Please.”

It’s not as Hajime remembers. The kiss they had in another life felt sweet and tender, awkward in the knowledge of being new. That first kiss had been full of hopes and care, while this one’s full of need. 

Hajime’s not sure if this is what he wanted, nor if Tooru has known since the beginning this is what it would turn into. The click comes back, but the world’s not balanced anymore. It’s spinning, while Hajime’s hands get lost in Tooru’s skin, while Tooru’s hands get lost in Hajime’s body. If they got closer they would lose themselves in the finite body of the other. 

The kiss deepens, sounds filling the silence of the room. Hajime hears himself moan, hears Tooru moan, the sheets shifting, the bed growling. When Hajime finds his way in top of Tooru, his brain is overwhelmed by all of it. The darkness, the sounds, the feel of Tooru’s skin, the mirror of scene: a stolen kiss in a forbidden place. An impossible relationship, because mages and princes could never be anything else than server and master. 

Hajime let’s his mouth fall into Tooru’s neck. In the blur of sounds and emotion, their clothes get lost. It barely registers, although Hajime’s skin comes to life when it gets in contact with Tooru’s. He gets back to Tooru’s mouth, because every human needs air to breath. Tooru’s kiss is life itself and Hajime’s chest hurts when he feels his nails marking his back. In the cloud of pleasure, he wishes they leave scar, so the memory won’t fade. 

Tooru’s right, Hajime understands, when he finally finds his way inside him. The world stops, they stop. Tooru’s gasping for air, his arms still around Hajime as if Hajime’s the only thing worth holding on to. They don’t kiss for long seconds, they only stare at each other, still. Tooru’s looking at him with that way he has of saying everything. Of course this won’t make it easier, because now that Hajime has found him, he has to give him away. 

“Don’t think,” Tooru whispers. “Don’t think about it. Just— Stay with me. Stay with me, Hajime. Just tonight.”

And Hajime does, until the sun rises, taking their stolen time away. 

 

The ball is spectacular. There’re hundreds of people gathered, all of them dressed in flashy colours. The music’s loud, the food’s good and laughter has been echoing through the ballroom for hours now.

Hajime hates it, but once again, he supposes there’s no way to avoid it. He likes balls just fine, but this is still his official meeting with his future husband after all. A husband who has still to make his appearance.

What a surprise. 

Given how untruthful southerns are, Hajime’s still unsure as for why his parents have decided to give them their first born. If only he could ask…

When he sees Issei laughing with a group of lords while he throws concerned gazes in his direction, Hajime decides it’s time to move. Maybe hide in the balconies until it’s time to officially meet his future.

He welcomes the cold wind. The sound of the ball dies in the silence outside, the night bright thanks to the red moon. An ill omen, just in pair with an ill night. 

“What are you doing?” Hajime doesn’t acknowledge his bother’s presence. “You should be—”

“I should be doing nothing,” Hajime answers with venom. He’s tired and pissed. He hasn’t seen Oikawa since he left his room this morning, without saying a word.

 _Stay with me, just tonight._ Hajime should have known a mage’s word is nothing but a curse. 

Issei leans beside Hajime and says nothing. They both stare at the moon, climbing the sky. The wind rustles the leaves on the trees, covering the conversations inside, the change of guard downstairs. 

They both look at the armed men bowing to each other and exchanging weapons, the vacant spot occupied by less tired soldiers. Issei has his eyes fixed in one of them, the cloud of yearn in his gaze too familiar for Hajime’s liking. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” Issei finally says and Hajime blinks at him, surprised. “And I never agreed with your freedom been ripped away from you.”

“I know,” Hajime lies.

“And I know you are mad at me too,” Issei continues and Hajime genuinely worries, because Issei has never been one to openly confront his problems.

“I’m… not,” this lie is not as easy. A part of Hajime doesn’t want to throw away Issei’s effort, while another part just wants to hide and ignore every piece of it. The look Issei throws at him calls out his bullshit well enough. “I know it’s a stupid thing. I know you were not—”

Issei’s eyes move with the guards downstairs. “Sometimes… I think, what if Mother gave me the option? Would I change myself for you? I would like to think I will save you from misery, but then—,” the guards might be joking between them, for a laugh comes loud and clear from their position. Issei winces. “You should be mad at me, Hajime. I don’t think I would sacrifice my life for you. I’m sorry.”

Hajime’s watching him, eyes wide open. He’s mad, so fucking mad at himself for not seeing this. 

“Issei, you don’t have to sacrifice anything,” Hajime’s furious words almost bend the stones of the balcony. Issei looks at him, as surprised as Hajime is. “I wouldn’t let you do it, anyway. Putting myself before your happiness? What a shitty brother would that make me.”

“But don’t you see,” Issei insists, his gaze traveling from the guards to Hajime in a frantic dance. “I would.”

“I don’t care,” Hajime says with fierce. “Issei, I’m not mad at you. I’m not mad at all. I’m just—,” but Hajime can bring himself to say it, the pain embracing his chest and his throat. He has to hold the childish need of running towards his mother and cry. “I’m not mad,” he repeats, instead. 

Issei’s watching him with the eyes of a mad man. “Hajime, there’s so much you don’t kn—”

The alarm of a newcomer sounds then, cutting Issei’s words. They both look at each other, unable to move, until the guards in the front door yell: “Southern flags!”

“Your future husband is here,” Issei whispers, and Hajime hopes he doesn’t look as frightened as his brother does. 

 

It’s awkward. Of course it’s awkward, the tension of reuniting two nations that historically hate each other in a closed space could annihilate borders. Hajime looks at the silent ballroom and fears their fragile diplomacy’s about to burn into nothingness as well.

They should have done this in private. They shouldn’t have done a ball at all. Hajime understands the tactics behind it, —public, witnesses, leverage—, but still; a false move and everything could end up in chaos.

Hajime should think of doing it; he might have, in the moments between Tooru’s presence in his room and his silent departure. A war, a word of discourage from his part and the southern party would be out of the door in less than a minute.

He would have done it, if the consequences would only entitle his life. He would have done it, if he didn’t know how wrong his selfishness is. A prince should always think of his people before himself, and Hajime’s not but a believer of that statement.

The silence’s piercing, thick in danger. The southern party is small, although the whole of the royal family is present here. A smart move. _We trust you with our kingdom_ , they proclaim, and Hajime can’t but bow at them for it.

Hajime’s mother doesn’t seem as impressed. In fact, she looks one step from throwing up. She’s pale, her face twisted in barely contained rage. Hajime’s not sure why she looks so mad, when she’s the one who forced this marriage on him. The feeling that there’s a missing piece in all of this sets, hard, above Hajime’s shoulders. 

The southern mage takes a step forward, then, breaking the tense stillness of the room. His silver hair shines in greens, reds and blues, the small pearls of his crown visible with every move of his body. He looks relaxed, as if he hasn’t just stepped inside the wolf’s mouth.

“Your Highnesses,” he says, while bowing towards Hajime’s parents. “We thank you for your invitation. It’s our pleasure to finally meet you both, and all your court.”

His voice dances, full of politeness and respect. Hajime’s not sure how genuine he actually is, but by the physical sigh of the court around him, everyone seems to believe it. Everyone, that is, except Hajime’s mother and their own mage.

It’s Oikawa’s turn to take a step forward. He’s wearing that fake smile of his Hajime hates so much. It’s full of intention and full of hate and Hajime has to hold the urge of stopping him. He shouldn’t be looking as if he’s about to kill everyone in the room, he shouldn’t be looking as if he would destroy the Southern Lands with pleasure and then laugh while bathing in their blood. 

Hajime closes his fists and says nothing, does nothing. Is he even allowed? Is he even entitled to Oikawa at all? He’s pretty sure this court, this kingdom, it’s not even his anymore.

He let’s Oikawa speak, silk voice filled with poison. “Your Majesties,” he bows, always respectful. “It’s our pleasure to have you here, in our most private family. We welcome you to enjoy not only our food and music, but the sweet company of our court.”

The southern queen’s eyes are glued to Oikawa’s, some meters behind her own mage. Southern rules are different from theirs; mages on the south have always been treated as royals themselves. The queen must sense how much power Oikawa carries, for she stares at him and him only.

She bows. The acknowledgement of Oikawa’s threat takes all of Oikawa’s bravery away, and he backs off, letting the southern queen take over the stage.

“Tobio,” she only says. The order’s followed by some bodies moving at her back, letting a boy get through.

He mustn’t be much younger than Hajime, but he still looks like a kid. A frightened kid, a kid who wants everything except being here in this precise moment. He’s pale, his trembling hands a mess at his front.

He’s barely holding it together. 

The southern prince bows at Hajime. He stays, with his nose pointing at the ground, until Hajime —with a little help from Issei,— gets the message. He takes a step forward, leaving the safe line formed by his family, and steps in the limits of his future.

Hajime doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want this kid at all, not his family, not his land, not his name. Hajime doesn’t want to be a chess piece in this stupid political game, and yet, here he is. A soldier of duty. 

“Prince Hajime,” the kid says, eyes still on the floor. “I’m Prince Kageyama Tobio. It’s my pleasure to finally meet you. I’ll be in your care from now on.”

Bile comes to Hajime’s mouth, but he swallows it. “The pleasure is mine,” he roughly answers. 

The silence comes again, long and thick and weird. Hajime doesn’t know what he should do, for Tobio’s still looking at the ground as if he’s trying to make a hole on it. Hajime has the impression the kid's paralysed, maybe by fear, maybe by the same future he doesn’t want, but has to accept either way.

“Maybe we should give the princes some private time, so they can get to know each other,” the southern mage says, finally breaking the silence. His smile would be annoying, if it didn’t feel so genuine. A chorus of voices come from the ballroom, everyone agreeing.

“Be nice,” Issei whispers in Hajime’s ear.

“I’m always nice.”

“If you keep looking at him like that, he’s gonna have a heart attack,” Issei warns and Hajime finally realises he’s been frowning since the very beginning. 

No wonder the kid’s scared shitless.

When the crowd breaks around them, queens and kings disappearing in their respective private rooms, Hajime gets closer to the southern prince. _Tobio_. He has a name, now. He has a face. He’s not a random person anymore.

He’s talking to his own mage and a tall girl, around Hajime’s age. Their conversation abruptly stops, when Hajime’s presence gets noticed.

“Prince Hajime,” the mage says, the smile never leaving his lips. “It’s a pleasure meeting you. I’m Sugawara Koushi,” he’s watching Hajime while he bows, making him extremely uncomfortable. “Sorry, your customs are different from ours, aren’t they?” Hajime’s sure he already knows that. Another test, in hostile land. Hajime has to get used to it, the sooner the better.

“It’s okay. They’re going to become mine soon anyway,” Hajime tries to answer the mage’s smile, and although he feels his lips tight and tense, he’s pretty sure the effect it’s not reassuring. “Prince Tobio,” Hajime nods in the kid’s direction. “Let me show you the palace, before we miss the opportunity of doing so.”

Tobio looks at the woman, who’s holding his hand with strength enough to leave her nails imprinted in his skin. “It’s okay,” she whispers. “You know what to do, if you need us.”

Tobio nods at her and lets go of her hand, taking a step towards Hajime. 

“This way.”

Hajime doesn’t see him, but he can feel Oikawa’s gaze glued at his back until they leave the room. A ghost Hajime wishes he could exorcize, rip off, throw away in the land of forgotten memories.

If only he could.

 

“…and these are the gardens,” Hajime hears himself say, the tired tone of his voice the only sound filling the night.

He’s exhausted. His voice is hoarse of so much one-side talk. It’s been a fucking monologue for almost an hour. An hour, for god’s sake, of him explaining to a marble statue every damn detail of a place he will probably never see again.

 _This is fucking torture_ , Hajime thinks to himself, with a sigh. Tobio, at his side, just nods, eyes never far away from the grass or the trees or anything that isn’t Hajime.

And he’s supposed to marry the kid? He wasn’t up to the idea before, but now? What is he supposed to do once he goes south? What is he supposed to be, when he leaves everything he knows to marry this boy, who cannot even look at him?

Panic starts to rise in Hajime’s chest, a warm wave that drowns his lungs and clouds his mind. 

“They are beautiful,” Tobio’s words barely register, for they are small and shy.

Hajime’s panic stops on its tracks, too surprised for the sound of Tobio’s voice to keep his auto-destructive behaviour. 

“Yes,” Hajime wheezes. 

Tobio looks around a bit more, lifting his chin. Hajime sees the blue of his eyes for the first time.

“I do not want to marry you,” the kid confesses, with the same small voice.

Something weird breaks inside Hajime’s chest. “Neither do I.”

“But we have to.”

“…Yes,” Hajime agrees.

“Do you know why we have to?” Tobio turns around, locking his midnight eyes with Hajime’s scared ones. The strength he sees in them makes the world turn, and Hajime loses his balance.

“For peace. To avoid countless deaths.”

“In my country,” he frees Hajime from his ice gaze, when he admires the gardens again, “we don’t lie.”

“I’m not lying.”

“I know. I meant,” Tobio clears his throat. “We don’t have custom to lie. White lies. Good lies. No lie has place in our walls,” he inhales, deeply, and faces Hajime again. Hajime’s lost, the determination in his eyes too much for Hajime to handle. “You will be my husband soon. I don’t want to lie to you, because that’s not how I was raised.”

“Prince Tobio, what are you—”

“We are not getting married for peace, Prince Hajime. We are getting married to avoid your death,” Hajime feels a punch in his chest. He can’t breathe. “And mine.”

History unfolds in front of Hajime’s eyes. Lies and turns around and brother’s worried to sickness and friends who decided to not be friends anymore. Magic and parents and orders and more orders. Hajime sees the past: wars, he wasn’t allowed to fight in. Meetings he wasn’t allowed to participated in. Society he wasn’t allowed to rule, because rulers die.

Rulers die.

His mage had seen him dead and to avoid his destiny, had sold his life away.

Hajime chokes on the truth.

He can’t breathe.


	2. Winter

It’s not Tooru’s fault that the kitchens catch fire.

Well, it is true Tooru has been training —foolishly— there for the last week, but it’s no one but the king’s fault, who has vanished him from the soldiers quarters. After vanishing him from the librarian’s basement. After vanishing him from his own fucking tower.

It doesn’t matter he has actually almost destroyed every one of those places as well. He’s a mage. He’s… doomed to some accidents.

Isn’t he?

“Are you okay,” someone’s shaking Tooru’s shoulder, but the dirt’s so thick in Tooru’s face he can’t open his eyes. “Oikawa, oi, are you alive?”

“Probably,” the mage answers between coughs. “What took you so long, Makki?”

“Seriously?” Someone gives Tooru a wet fabric and he’s finally able to take the shit away from his eyelids. Gods, he has almost forgotten how beautiful natural light actually is. “You melted every piece of metal in the place. The door was literally encrusted to the damn wall. A stone wall.”

“Still,” Tooru insists. “You are a soldier. Isn’t that your job?”

“To save reckless mages? I don’t think so.”

“To protect the royal treasure, Makki.”

Hanamaki chuckles. “Whatever.”

Tooru looks around himself and winces. It looks worse than he’d imagined. The white-stoned walls are now sick grey, the kitchen’s appliances all melted into weird shapes, becoming useless. There’s a clean shadow on the southern wall. Tooru ignores how similar it looks to his body’s shape.

Shit, what a mess. The king’s going to kill him.

“Well,” Hanamaki, who was squatting in front of Tooru, stands up, cleaning the black dirt from his armour. “I’m glad you’re alive and in one piece.”

Tooru growls in agreement, although he’s not so sure about the one piece part. He’s pretty sure some of his organs have melted to each other as well, for how sick he’s feeling.

The other soldiers are cleaning the broken pieces of furniture. No one’s brave enough to come closer to Tooru besides Hanamaki, who has probably some suicidal instincts that should be checked. He’s also the only childhood friend Tooru has left. Tooru’s sure the pressure of such feat’s not unnoticed to Hanamaki himself. And yet, here he stands, proud and useful and friendly.

“Do you need help standing?”

“I’m fine,” Tooru lies.

“At least you are,” Makki’s grin doesn’t quite hide his worry. “Can’t say the same for the kitchen. The king shouldn’t have put you here.”

“The renovation of the south tower’s one has finished already,” Tooru clarifies. He’s not stupid, although his erratic behaviour lately could say otherwise. The king has been trying to give him space to blow up his frustration, yes, but he’s not a ruler for nothing.

One doesn’t go giving his own mage the opportunity of destroying every quarter in his castle without a replacement.

“Yeah, I heard the queen wanted to give this one—, how to say it? A hand of fresh paint.”

Tooru wishes he could answer Makki’s smile, but he finds the only thing he can do is shrug. His sore body’s not the only thing that hurts beyond repair.

“Come on, Oikawa,” with a strong pull of his arm, Makki forces Tooru on his feet. “Let’s find you a bath and a new room to spell–blow, okay?”

“I’m fine,” he repeats, the mantra leaving his lips in an unconscious motion. He has said it so many times by now it doesn’t even mean anything anymore.

“Tooru,” the use of his given name makes Tooru flinch. He forces his gaze on the ground, scared of Makki’s serious tone. “It’s been six months,” he says it soft, as if the words hurt his lips. “You need to start getting your shit together.”

“My shit’s just fine.”

“Tooru, look at me.” Tooru doesn’t look at him. “He’s gone. He’s gone for good. He’s not coming back anymore.”

“I know. I’m the one who sent him away, remember?” Tooru feels a chill run down his spine at his own statement. He wants to crawl into a ball, but even his own heat wouldn’t be enough to take this awful pain away.

“You did what you had to do.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Hanamaki grabs him from his upper arms, forcing Tooru’s eyes to lock on his. Tooru feels too fragile to confront Hanamaki’s absolute gaze. “Tooru, it’s time to let go.”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it!”

Tooru gets rid of Hanamaki’s hands, panting. He can still hear the echo of his screamed words moving through the thick air of the kitchen. No one’s moving, everyone watching them in stilled fear.

“Calm down,” Hanamaki orders with that collected voice Tooru hates so much. (Hanamaki has developed it in the last months, a reminder that Tooru has lost much of his control.)

Tooru can’t calm down. He’s exhausted, he’s been pulling all nighters for weeks, maybe for months. He’s tired and sad and mad, the kitchen dark in dirt, another sign of Tooru’s failures. Tooru’s one of the best mages of the Four Lands and here he stands, a mess that can’t even cast a single spell right.

“Calm down,” Hanamaki repeats. Tooru breathes in deeply, the green of his glowing hands waving with it. “We are fine, everybody!”, Hanamaki’s cheery voice carries around. His fellow soldiers don’t look very convinced. Hanamaki smiles, wider. “Please, keep cleaning and don’t forget your report once you finish here.”

The sound of movement and metal clashing metal starts to fill the space again. Tooru tries to focus on his breathing. In some minutes, the magic in his hands vanish.

“This can’t keep going like this, Tooru,” Hanamaki warns. “You need to find your balance, before you put all this kingdom down. For good.”

Tooru doesn’t answer. He agrees with Makki, but he’s not even sure if such a thing’s possible anymore. Oikawa Tooru’s a royal mage, yes, but he had always been one royal’s mage. Without Hajime here, without his royalty present to keep his world standing, Tooru’s not sure he can find balance anymore.

He was born to give his magic to Hajime alone, but because Hajime was sentenced to die, Tooru had to send him away. And now Tooru has nothing more than waves of magic and an empty shell of a chest to try to control it.

Hanamaki pats him in the back. Tooru wishes the comforting touch could heal everything that’s wrong in him.

But it can’t.

 

“Are you aware of the amount of goods you’ve destroyed in the last month?”

Tooru pretends to think about it for a second. “A lot?”

“This is not a joke, Mage Oikawa.”

At the sharp tone of the king’s voice, Tooru grimaces. His bow accentuates, making Tooru face his feet almost completely.

“I know it isn’t, Your Highness. I apologise.”

The king sighs, deeply. “I know you are feeling— I know Hajime’s departure has affected you, Tooru, but you are this family’s mage. You need to start working for the kingdom again.”

“I’m trying,” Tooru mumbles. “I’ve been working on a spell to cast alarms in long distance, as you asked me. I’m also trying to build this… thing,” the sole idea of it makes Tooru want to throw up. “The thing with other mages.”

“The council?”

Tooru grimaces and slowly, straightens himself. “Yes, that.”

“That’s good,” the king smiles, that sad smile he can only pull out since Hajime left. “It will save so many lives and stop so many wars. It’s a good thing you are doing, Tooru.”

It’s not a good thing Tooru wants to be doing, though he doesn’t say as much. The sad lines around the king’s eyes are getting worse by the day, the pale of his skin unusual in him.

“If I may, Your Highness?”

The king sighs again. “Go ahead.

“Are you— Do you need anything from me?”

“You are doing all I asked, aren’t you?”

Tooru winces. “I meant,” he clears his throat. “Are you sick, Your Highness?”

The silence embraces Tooru like a wall of swords. He should have stayed quiet, he should—

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason, Your Highness.”

The king’s not fooled by the rushed answer. “Speak your mind, Tooru. It’s not like it would be the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last time, either.”

Tooru hides his hands behind his back, trying to force them to stop moving. The tip of his fingers tickle, some residual magic trying to answer the best way Tooru knows.

“You look… less healthy, lately. That’s all.”

“Tooru.”

“I’m a mage,” Tooru rushes. “I’m trained to see signs of distress.”

The king rubs his eyes before answering, “You can imagine why.”

“Hajime’s departure could have done so much, Your Highness,” Tooru knows he’s stepping his boundaries, but the king himself has said, hasn’t he. Tooru’s still this family’s mage. “If there’s something else, I ought to know.”

“Enough,” Tooru flinches at the order. “You ought to stay in your place and do the work I tell you to do, Mage Oikawa. Nothing else.”

“I am your mage, Your Highness,” Tooru replies, clenching his teeth. “Not your slave.”

“You are dismissed, then.”

Tooru doesn’t look back, frustration building up inside his body. He’s tired, of course. He’s sad, how could he not. But even when Hajime’s absence is getting the best of him, Tooru can’t help but care. He’s Hajime’s mage, yes, but when the royal decree had arrived at his door when he was four years old, he had gained a family with it.

Tooru might be losing his mind a bit, lately, but he’s still the Northern Land’s mage. A sick king is a weakness he needs to have under control, before it becomes something of political matter.

He ignores the numb pain of a worried child facing, powerless, the threat of death. Tooru can’t allow himself to see the king as his father anymore. He’s not Hajime. When the time comes, Tooru needs to have enough power to tell the king the truth, and to ignore his orders if necessary.

Tooru can’t allow himself the attachment, so he ignores the idea of his sick father and reminds himself he must face the problem of his sick king.

  
  


 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I think I can make it,” Tooru says, hands deep in the mug.

Hajime, besides him, shakes his head. The frown he’s wearing isn’t specially comforting. “You can’t.”

“I’m telling you, I can,” Tooru pouts. Hajime, who’s not fond of Tooru’s pouts, looks at him and presses his lips together. There’s so much more he wants to tell his stupid and reckless friend, but he goes with a simple:

“It’s stupid and dangerous. Father’s gonna get mad at you.”

“You wanted a sword,” Tooru hisses. “I’m doing this for you.”

“And I’m telling you,” Hajime whispers back. “I don’t want you to do it anymore.”

Tooru whines, “But it’s your birthday.”

Hajime’s looking at him with that way he has, brow furrowed and sharp eyes fixed in him. Tooru has the impression he’s trying to read his mind. He chuckles a bit at the idea, since the mage here is him and not Hajime.

“What’s so funny, idiot.”

“You can’t read my mind.”

Hajime blushes. “I wasn’t trying to.”

“Liar,” Tooru giggles.

“I’m not lying,” Hajime, flustered beyond repair, pushes Tooru a bit too hard on the shoulder, throwing him into the ground. Hajime’s heart loses a beat, when he hears Tooru’s body collide against a stone. Hard.

“Ouch!” Hajime’s eyes open widely. “Hajime, you brute! You hurt me!”

“I didn’t—”

Tooru, pissed off, puts his hands back into the mug and murmurs some words under his nose. Before Hajime can take a step back, a greenish light comes from the ground, together with a sharp metallic noise. By instinct, Hajime hides his eyes behind his hands, Tooru’s magic too bright for him. When the chanting ends and he finally allows himself to look back, Tooru’s panting, a long sword at his hand, the green light gone.

“What have you—”

“Aha! I told you I could—”

The earth cracks before Tooru can finish his proud statement.

The harsh trembling of the ground makes them both lose their balance. Tooru and Hajime stare at each other, panic rising, while they fall in slow motion towards the moving earth. Tooru’s still holding the sword, that’s almost as tall as he is, when he reaches forward and gets a hold of Hajime’s hand.

“Tooru, what’s—?”

“Hold tight!”

Hajime does as said a second before the world becomes green light. Hajime closes his eyelids with enough strength as to see stars behind them, and yet, the green filters through them anyway, making of Hajime’s vision a magic kaleidoscope. He feels the warmth of Tooru’s hand in his and then of Tooru’s arms around his back and shoulders. Hajime’s pretty sure the sword has cut deep into his shin, but while the earth keeps breaking, he doesn’t allow the pain to register. The only thing he focuses on is Tooru, glued to his body; it’s the green light, that’s filling his veins; it’s Tooru’s murmured spells, that keep coming and coming and coming.

It all stops suddenly. Hajime, who’s eyes are still closed, feels gravity pulling him and Tooru towards the ground, finally stilled. He let’s go a small cry for help and hugs Tooru with strength enough to choke him. Tooru’s whispered spells are rushed and panicked against Hajime’s ear. The last word comes screaming a second before they crash against the ground.

With a _pop_ , Hajime and Tooru stop. They are both panting, muscles and arms and legs trembling, hanging in the middle of the air. The world’s quiet and still, as if their reckless little adventure hasn’t even registered in the big scheme of things.

“Are you oka—?"

The spell breaks, cutting Tooru’s words. They crash against the ground, hard, the sword dangerously dancing between them. Hajime hears himself curse —he shouldn’t—, and then hears Tooru murmur something Hajime can’t quite comprehend.

“What was that.”

“I think,” Tooru’s breathing’s coming uneven. Hajime forces his eyelids to open and he stares at his friend, in awe. Hajime’s not sure if he should be shaking Tooru for his stupid actions, or hugging him, for how amazing he actually is. “I think I might have pissed off the Earth.”

“You think?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

Hajime looks at Tooru’s face, dirty with mug and grass and blood. His stomach free falls when he realises how dangerously close the sword is to Tooru’s body. Without a thought, Hajime kneels at Tooru’s side and grabs his face.

“Hajime, what are you doing?” Tooru opens his eyes and flashes a dirty look in Hajime’s direction. “You’re hurting me.”

“You’re bleeding,” Hajime can feel the trembling in his voice and he doesn’t like it one bit.

“I’m fine,” Tooru shakes his head and Hajime’s fingers fall from his skin.

When Tooru keeps his gaze locked in the horizon, even when the sword he has made for Hajime lays proud at his side, it’s clear as day he’s pissed. Really, really pissed.

Why would he be pissed, now, that’s another issue completely.

“Are you mad at me?”

Tooru doesn’t move. “No.”

“Oi, why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not.”

Hajime snickers. “Yeah, sure.”

“I’m not, I’m telling you.”

“And you are a liar, I’m telling you.” Now, he _is_ pissed. Tooru sits in a single movement, almost hitting Hajime’s head with his in his rush to show Hajime how much he’s not mad.

“I’m no liar! I’m not mad.”

Hajime puts both his hands in Tooru’s face, closing his cheeks with them. Hajime ignores the warmth of the blood still coming fresh from his cuts. “Why are you mad,” he asks, softly this time.

Tooru can’t look him in the eyes, when he answers, “I should have made a sword.”

Hajime frowns, for there’s a beautifully shaped sword mere centimetres from them. “And you have?”

“No,” Hajime growls. “I did make a sword, but—” Tooru’s eyelids close half way and he sniffs, soundly. Hajime’s stomach drops, not happy with the sad stance of his friend. “The Earth didn’t like it.”

“Well, of course,” Hajime’s not really aware of mage’s magic, but he still tries to comfort Tooru. “You took from it to build it, right?”

“But that’s the point!” Tooru shakes his head again, trying to get rid of Hajime’s hands. When his tries remain futile, Tooru wheezes. “She didn’t want to give it to me. I took from her. I stole from her,” Hajime feels something nasty and weird break inside him at the sight of Tooru’s tears. “She didn’t think I was worthy.”

Hajime doesn’t have time to put some sense into that thick head of his, for a group of riders is coming towards them light speed. No one listens to Hajime when he tries to tell the soldiers that he’s fine and that Tooru has done nothing wrong. They take them home in separate ways and for two days no one allows Hajime to go visit his friend.

It’s torture.

 

 

The third night, Hajime breaks into his own palace.

Well, technically speaking, the mage’s quarters are not Hajime’s palace, but for the sake of friendship, Hajime’s ignoring that small fact. He climbs the stairs as slowly as he can, his naked feet caressing the wood, trying to avoid any sound that could give him away.

“Aw,” a voice at his back sounds, then. Hajime curses and his hand travels fast to close his own mouth. Hajime’s not sure if he does it to keep himself shut, or if the shame of cursing has gotten the best of him.

He turns around and makes a face at Issei, who’s wearing a grimace. “Sorry,” his brother mouths.

Hajime continues his way, hyperaware of Issei at his back. He shouldn’t have let him come along, but once Issei had realised Tooru was in locked down, there was no way Hajime could make him change his mind.

What a stubborn brother he has.

Tooru’s door is unguarded. Issei and Hajime peek from behind a corner, waiting for a soldier to come by any minute now.

“Do you think he’s inside?” Issei asks.

“Yes,” Hajime says it with absolute confidence, but the truth is, he doesn’t even know. Father could have lied. “Come on.”

They reach the door. It looks tall and thick as a wall. Hajime can’t see magic, but he’s pretty sure the frame’s full of it. “Should we knock?” Issei asks, fidgeting at Hajime’s side.

Hajime’s not sure. He looks at the door, wary. He’s been thinking a lot about magic and mages and the relation between both. He should have gone to the library to investigate, but the library’s lack of books about break-ins has kept Hajime away.

He knocks, trying his luck.

After a minute —a really long, frustrated minute,— Hajime knocks again, harder. The third time, Hajime has forgotten about the danger of magic and rules and the fact that he’s not allowed here, at all.

“Tooru! Open the door!”, silence answers him. “Tooru!”

“Hajime,” Issei’s pulling Hajime from his shirt. “We should go. You’re being too loud.”

“You can leave if you want,” Hajime gets rid of Issei’s fingers. “Tooru!”

“Gosh, aren’t you loud,” Tooru says, then, startling the princes.

The voice has filled the passage from side to side. Hajime and Issei look around themselves when they realise the door’s still closed, but see nothing.

“Tooru?”, Hajime murmurs, looking above his shoulders. “Tooru, are you the door?”

They hear Tooru’s snort. “Of course I’m not the door,” the door slowly opens, revealing Tooru’s small figure. “How stupid are you, Hajime?”

Hajime ignores the insult and throws himself at Tooru, who croaks at the strength of Hajime’s hug. Tooru awkwardly pats Hajime’s back when the prince doesn’t look like he’s gonna move away soon.

“Are you okay? Why are you so touchy?” Tooru asks at Hajime’s ear.

“He thought you had been vanished or something like that,” Issei offers, shrugging, still besides the door frame.

Tooru frowns. “Why would I be vanished?”

“Because you made a sword!” Hajime lets go of Tooru. “You are a reckless idiot.”

Tooru pouts. “Who are you calling an idiot? I’m not the one who thought I was a door.”

Hajime blushes profusely and curses Tooru under his nose, making the mage’s insides melt into tender friendship.

 

Issei’s fast asleep in Tooru’s bed. He’s crawled into a ball, hugging a stuffed animal Tooru has given him. Hajime’s watching him with a soft smile that Tooru doesn’t seem able to take his eyes away from.

When Hajime turns to face Tooru, the mage feels his heart skip a beat. The sharp look in Hajime’s eyes is a sight Tooru’s not used to see often. “Are you okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

Tooru’s fake smile doesn’t seem to fool Hajime one bit, for he says, “Now tell me the truth.”

“I am.”

“Stop lying to me!”, Hajime hisses. “What did they do?”

“Nothing,” Tooru looks away.

“Tooru,” the warning makes Tooru flinch.

“Nothing, I’m telling you.”

Hajime throws himself at Tooru, then, patience finally reaching its limit. They end up on the ground, Hajime sitting atop Tooru’s stomach. A king, conquering his rightful land.

Tooru focus his gaze on the window and says nothing.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“Because.”

Hajime doesn’t move from Tooru’s stomach, but he lets his hands fall into the ground at the sides of Tooru’s face. The mage tenses and swallows hard, but he stays strong. He’s not letting Hajime and his kingly presence win over him.

“Did they hurt you?” Hajime’s whisper caresses Tooru’s cheek.

Tooru closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Then, why don’t you tell me what they did to you? I know they must have done something. They would have let me come see you otherwise.”

“Maybe that was it. Maybe we can’t see each other anymore.”

Tooru feels Hajime’s rage build up. “I won’t allow that,” he proclaims, furious.

“It’s not that,” Tooru sighs. “They did nothing. I’m fine. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Tooru snorts. “I look perfect, don’t lie to me.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Tooru’s watching Hajime from the corner of his eyes. “Why are you so sad?”

Tooru blinks several times, trying to absorb the question. “I’m not.” This lie doesn’t sit well with him, for his eyes get filled with tears as soon as it leaves his lips.

He hides behind his hands, too aware of Hajime’s closeness to do otherwise. Before Tooru can do anything, Hajime’s hands pull him against his chest. Tooru finds himself sobbing against Hajime, his hands deep into his friend’s back. Tooru’s not sure where all this sad, painful sobs are coming from, but they don’t seem like they will be stopping anytime soon.

Tooru doesn’t know how long he spends in Hajime’s arms, crying his heart out. He’s not even sure why he’s crying so much his throat hurts and his lungs burn. Hajime caresses his head and then his back and then his head again, and says nothing. Tooru can’t believe he’s this lucky, even when it hurts so much.

“You look horrible,” Hajime says, when Tooru feels his whimpering decrease. “I will have to burn this shirt now, with all that snot you’ve put on me.”

“You are such a brute, Hajime,” Tooru tries to clean his nose with the back of his hands and hiccups a bit. He’s still sitting on Hajime’s lap.

Hajime caresses Tooru’s cheek, cleaning the tears away. “Will you tell me now why are you crying so much?”

“It’s not what you think,” Tooru blurts. “They did nothing to me,” Tooru sniffles soundly. “I just— The Earth thing,” ashamed, Tooru fixes his gaze in his hands. “Do you remember?”

Hajime frowns. He barely does. “That you took from her?” Tooru nods. “And you felt unworthy?” Another nod.

“I’m a bad mage,” Tooru whispers, as if it were a secret.

“What. That’s stupid,” Tooru flinches at the strength of Hajime’s words. “I mean… Tooru, you are amazing.” Tooru blushes at the compliment. “You made a sword and you are not even a full mage yet! You’ve been in training for barely five years now!”

“That’s not important,” Tooru says, while shaking his head. “I’m a strong mage, doesn’t mean I’m a good one.”

Gods, Hajime should have done his damn research in magic before having this conversation.

“I don’t— I don’t really know how magic works, Tooru,” Hajime confesses, a bit ashamed. Tooru blinks at him.

“You don’t need to.”

“But I want to understand you. I want— I want to know why you’re this sad over… Earth not thinking you are worthy?”

Tooru looks at his hands again. And then he sighs. And then he lets his head fall into Hajime’s shoulder, where he hides his nose on his friend’s neck. Hajime doesn’t say anything.

“It’s an exchange. I give my energy to the elements, and they give it back with what I ask of them. If the exchange is peaceful, nothing bad happens. But, if the mage’s not worthy— You saw what the Earth did.”

“Maybe you… did it wrong?”

Tooru snorts. “I didn’t do it wrong.”

“But why would you be unworthy? You are perfect,” Hajime declares. Tooru’s glad he has hid in Hajime’s neck, for he blushes so badly he can hear his heartbeat through his cheeks.

“I’m a bad mage.”

“Tooru. That’s stupid. This’s stupid. You’re not making any sense.”

“I’m not royal!”, he finally says, leaning away from Hajime. He’s furious now.

“Of course not. You’re a mage,” Hajime frowns. “I don’t understand anything.”

“I’m a low class! I wasn’t born in a royal mage family! I’m not worth of being your mage, I’m not worth of being any royal’s mage! I’m scum,” he spits the last word.

Hajime’s staring at him intensely while Tooru pants. The silence gets thick, Issei’s deep breathing the only sound filling the room. Tooru’s not prepared when Hajime pulls his head back and headbutts Tooru, with strength enough to make his nose bleed.

“What the— Are you nuts?!”

“You are stupid,” Hajime says, his forehead red for the hit. “What you just said’s bullshit and I don’t wanna hear it anymore.”

“You’re crazy!”

“No! You are!” Hajime grabs Tooru by the arms. “You are amazing. You have amazing magic and I won’t have any other mage in my palace, ever. I don’t care if you were born in the river or in the other side of the southern border. You’re my best friend, you’re the best mage this kingdom has ever seen and I won’t let you say otherwise.”

Tooru says nothing. He stares at Hajime, expression blank, and drinks from his words like a thirsty bastard. Tooru’s not sure, but he feels it, right there. This night, this moment, has just shaped his and Hajime’s friendship forever. Here, where Hajime has told Tooru he matters.

That’s another kind of magic. Tooru feels it crawl into the floor and crave: invisible words, invisible thoughts, invisible emotions. Things that may get lost in memory but that have left scar in the floor of Tooru’s bedroom.

_Thank you._

  


 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


“You look awful.”

“Did I ask for your opinion?” Tooru doesn’t even look at Hanamaki, who’s standing at his side with his soldiery stance.

“I thought it appropriate and friend-like to let you know.”

“Well, you thought wrong.”

The room has been filling itself with people for the last twenty minutes and Tooru couldn’t be unhappier. Some would argue that this is Tooru’s project, his baby, finally seeing the light of life.

Well, them, as well, would be fucking wrong, because Tooru _hates_ this baby of his. This is not even his baby, but the king and queen’s request, that he has gestated in his damn body for long months now.

“Seriously, though,” Hanamaki’s voice loses its funny tint. “Are you okay?”

“Once this thing finishes, I will.”

“Tooru…”

“Well, well, look who’s here,” Tooru flinches but doesn’t turn. “Oikawa Tooru himself.”

“Since _I_ organised this council thing, one would expect from me to be here, don’t you think?” Tooru watches the mage’s smirk with a sneer of his own.

“You’re always so picky with your showings, I thought this would be the same.”

Tooru wonders why every person around him has so many stupid thoughts, today.

“As you can see,” Tooru opens his arms. “Here I am.”

“Here you are.”

The mage nods in Hanamaki’s direction and takes the other spot beside Tooru. He gets closer to Tooru’s ear, and whispers, “I heard about Hajime. I’m sorry.”

Tooru grimaces. “You don’t have to.”

The arched eyebrow the mage gives Tooru is self explanatory. “Look, I get you don’t want to talk about it. But still, if you need anything…”

“I won’t,” Tooru’s harsh words hurt even his own ears. “But thanks anyway.”

“Also,” Tooru sighs. “Nice thing you’ve done.”

“I was sort of forced into this.”

“Yeah, I get how a broken heart could do that.”

“I’m not brokenhearted,” Tooru replies. The other laughs, making Tooru grit his teeth. “And if you’re implying I’m overworking myself: I’m not.”

Hanamaki snorts, then, making Tooru extremely flustered. “Yeah, I can see that.”

Ten minutes later, the whole of the mage community’s present. Some of them talk with each other, although the majority keep to themselves. Tooru knows he should open the discussion, but there’s a stone stuck in his throat.

_This will help people, this will help people, this will—_

“Tooru,” Hanamaki mouths and Tooru breathes in, deeply.

When he starts talking, the words flow naturally. He doesn’t worry about his birthplace, or about the royalty of his blood. When Tooru talks, he does it with confidence. A scar, that just like the ones in his bedroom’s floor, is forever branded in his heart, invisible.

Hajime wouldn’t allow Tooru to let himself down, so Tooru won’t, either.

 

After the first meeting of the council of mages is over, Tooru feels like he could sleep for centuries.

Too many things have been discussed, too many hostile advances have been cut. Tooru knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but damn, it has been hell. Uniting mages from four different cultures in one same place has been dangerous, to say the least.

Tooru’s fucking proud of himself to have pulled it out.

“You’re glowing.”

“Please, Kuroo, don’t spoil my mood.”

The other mage’s smirk doesn’t make Tooru happy. “I’m here to add to that mood.”

Tooru looks at him, wary. “If you mention Hajime again, I won’t talk to you. Ever.”

Kuroo takes a second too long to consider it. “Gotcha,” he takes a glass from the table. “Lets toast, for your amazing contribution to mage’s history.”

Their cups click. “I like how you took us all out into no one’s land to do this.” Tooru doesn’t miss the double edge in Kuroo’s voice.

“My country would be as defenceless as yours to a war right now.”

“Yet, prepared for that disadvantage.”

“You have travel spells under that old-fashioned cape of yours.”

“Not everyone does,” Tooru sighs.

“What do you want, Kuroo? I told you I didn’t want my mood spoiled.”

Kuroo takes a sip of his drink. “We’re friends,” he states and Tooru’s not sure what to do with such straightforward words. “But we still owe our lives to opposite factions of the world.”

“That’s stupid,” Tooru blurts, without thinking.

“What is?” Kuroo looks surprised by Tooru’s raged words. “Being friends?”

“Factions. Separation. War.”

“Well, so are kingdoms.”

Tooru doesn’t answer.

“Still, this is a nice try of fixing things.”

“I don’t want to fix things. I just want—”

“Peace?” Kuroo chuckles. “Peace’s not something we will reach in our lifetimes.”

Tooru can’t tell Kuroo he had sent Hajime to the Southern Lands with the promise of peace, and that now he must honour such promise.

“We’re the counsellors of our kingdoms,” Tooru says, thoughtful. “We could have saved thousands of lives, if we had been able to do something like this from the very beginning.”

Kuroo keeps drinking, while watching Tooru’s profile. Tooru’s not fond of that look of his. “This all comes down to the same thing, doesn’t it.”

“To what?”

Kuroo finishes his cup and lets the empty glass on the table. Tooru answers his gaze with one full of resentment. “Hajime.”

He’s gone before Tooru can hit him or kill him or just scream at him. Friends, he said. Tooru wonders if that’s true; if, given the case, Kuroo would chose neutrality in favour of his own kingdom. If, in the face of war, Kuroo would put it into balance in his moral scale and decide killing a friend was not worth it.

“Oikawa.” Tooru jumps at the sound of his name. When he turns, the sight of Sugawara’s steady face breaks his well-built stance, confidence crashing into pieces at his feet. Tooru’s not sure if he’s even breathing anymore. “I finally catch you.”

Tooru blinks, unable to process Sugawara’s presence and what it means. Tooru hasn’t seen him in the room before, but of course he’s here. He’s the Southern Land’s mage. He’s the father of this unholy baby Tooru has brought to life.

“How are you?” Sugawara’s smile makes Tooru’s gut twist.

“Good,” Tooru answers, automatically. The corner of Sugawara’s eyes flinch, only sign he’s not buying Tooru’s lie. “Are you— Has the meeting been of your liking?”

“It’s been great, yes.” Sugawara tilts his head to the side. “Would you like to sit, for a while? So we can talk.”

Gods, no. Tooru does not want to talk with him. Not now, not ever.

“Sure.”

Sugawara’s smart enough to pick a table far away in the corners of the room. “I think we should organise a meeting every month, to work through the more…rough relationships.” Tooru nods. “Also, I think it appropriate to introduce the concept of ministers in our next meeting.”

“Ministers,” Tooru repeats. “What kind of ministers.”

“Mages, since this would be our idea.”

Tooru’s smile is wide and sharp. “Seems dangerous, putting stranger mages into one’s home.”

“It’s a sign of trust.”

“Still dangerous.”

“Well, that’s how trust’s build. Taking dangerous steps.”

Tooru thinks of his kingdom, where mages are trained in magic and not diplomacy. They are not ready, if the idea of ministers gets through.

“It will be a slow process, of course,” Sugawara adds, reading Tooru’s mind.

“I would appreciate it, if you stay away from my thoughts.”

When the other man shrugs, Tooru has to hold the urge of punching him. “Your barriers are weaker than usual.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to peek.”

“Hajime’s doing good,” the sudden change of topic makes Tooru lean back in surprise. He hasn’t had time to prepare himself for this, he doesn’t want to talk about this, this is not— “He adapted pretty fast. He’s almost—”

“Stop,” Tooru stands, suddenly. He’s panting, eyes wide open, fixed on Sugawara’s, who’s watching him with too much knowledge. “Are you trying to torture me?”

“On the contrary,” the mage doesn’t stand. “I thought I was making you a favour.”

“By telling me how my prince’s enjoying the life of the south? Of how happy he is?”

“Isn’t that what every person in your kingdom wants to hear?” Sugawara’s voice has an edge on it. “That he’s happy and safe?”

Tooru doesn’t answer, but his thoughts are enough.

“You’re the one who forced our hand,” Sugawara reminds him. “You’re not allowed to feel the way you’re feeling.”

“Stop peeking!” Tooru can’t take his eyes away from the southern mage. There’s something in his eyes that pulls Tooru’s attention to him like a damn magnet. “Stop reading me, as if you’re entitled to it.”

“I feel I might be, a bit. You made us family, after all.”

Tooru doesn’t send the message to his body, but he’s moving anyway. He throws himself at Sugawara’s throat, before two strong arms grab him from the chest and pull back, hard.

“What the fuck, Oikawa,” Hanamaki’s voice is rushed in his ear. “Are you insane? You can’t attack another mage! Not in here,” he hisses. A part of Tooru registers the logic of that, but what’s moving Tooru right now has nothing to do with logic.

“It’s my fault,” Sugawara says, then, standing. “I provoked him. No one noticed, so it’s all good.”

Hanamaki recognises Sugawara right away. “You better get out of here before I let him go.”

He’s gone a second later. Hanamaki releases Tooru, who pants with his hands on his knees. Rage’s still pumping in his brain when he finally stands, facing Hanamaki

“Better?” Tooru shakes his head. “Well, I need you to get better. I’ve got a message from the palace. We need to go.”


	3. Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /there are some graphic/violent descriptions in this chapter. please, be aware./

Someone had tried to break into Tooru’s room, they say when they arrive.

The king and the second prince, —the remaining prince—, are standing in front of said door, an army of soldiers around them. Tooru’s door, the same door Hajime had thought long ago to be Tooru himself, stands proud, undefeated.

Hanamaki walks in front of Tooru and faces his soldiers. “Report,” he orders.

“Someone tried to get into Mage Oikawa’s room, sir,” one of them answers.

“How do you know that?”

“Mage Kunimi felt a string of unknown magic. We followed it here. The mage then said it was a break–through spell. When he tried to find out the source, the magic fade. We don’t know anything else.”

“Did someone get hurt?”

“No, sir.”

Hanamaki turns to the king, then, and he bows deeply. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. This is a direct failure from my part. I will face my punishment when you see fit.”

After a long pause, the king answers, “Very well.”

“What? You can’t be serious,” Issei’s voice carries through the passage. “It’s not his fault. He wasn’t even here.”

“Issei,” the king shakes his head. “This is between me and the head of my soldiers.” Issei looks like he’s going to explode, trying to hold in his words.

“Mage Oikawa,” the king says, then. “I’m sorry to rush you after your journey, but would you be so kind as to open your rooms?”

“Why would you need to see my rooms, if no one has broken through?”

The king’s sick gaze doesn’t leave Tooru’s face. “We need to know you’re not hiding anything worth stealing.”

“I’m not hiding anything worth stealing,” Tooru automatically answers.

“I will need something else than just your word.”

“I’m the royal mage,” Tooru has a bad feeling crawling his back. “My word should be enough.”

The king’s feverish gaze doesn’t move away from Tooru. _I should have checked it properly_ , Tooru thinks with disbelief, _I should have made sure he wasn’t really sick._

“Let us through, Tooru.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Hanamaki takes a step forward. “Why is Mage Oikawa been treated like he’s hiding something?”

“Because he might be.”

“But I’m not. I haven’t done anything—” Tooru’s eyes open widely, when he realises what’s happening. “This is not about the break in,” he musters, an absolute pressure crashing his lungs. “This is about Hajime.”

Hanamaki looks at his soldiers before Tooru finishes his sentence. “Go back to your quarters. Now.”

The soldiers flee in the next second, leaving the king and his remaining son together with Tooru and Hanamaki.

“This could be read as a sign of treason, Captain Hanamaki.”

“Your Highness, this is not a safety issue. It shouldn’t be treated like it,” Hanamaki turns to watch Issei, then. The prince flinches a bit. “You should go for your mom.”

Issei lets himself swim a bit more in Hanamaki’s eyes, before nodding. He disappears without much of a sound.

“Now, you’re free to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk,” Tooru answers.

“Well, then. Your Highness, you’re free to talk.”

“You have no right to tell me what I can and can’t do.”

“Well, then,” Hanamaki puts his hands on the air. “We can wait here until you decide to talk about this thing that has been growing between you two.”

“You’re stepping your boundaries, soldier.”

Hanamaki shrugs, not caring one bit about the threat behind the king’s words. “You made me captain to protect your kingdom _and_ your family. That’s what I’m doing now.”

“He sent my family away!”

“You agreed!” Tooru can’t believe this. “You agreed,” he repeats, because that has been his lullaby for these long ten months. “We had to save him. We had to— I had to save him.”

“You could have done something _else_.”

“Like what?!”

The king’s eyes are red, a mix of tiredness and tears and madness. “A council! You could have make it happen before he went away.”

“The council was possible because Hajime went away,” Tooru’s tired voice barely leaves his mouth. “The southerns would have never agreed to this fragile peace if we haven’t worked to save their prince.”

“So Hajime was levarage.”

Tooru can’t process the absurdity of this conversation. “No, the southern prince was. You wanted Hajime alive.”

“How do I know you didn’t make it up?”

It’s a physical blow, those words. A part of Tooru understands it’s the sadness who’s really talking, but it still hurts. Flashes of a kiss under the safety of white sheets, flashes of a nightmare Tooru will never be able to forget. Pain and sweat and waking up screaming, Hanamaki shaking him awake, scared by the tears that wouldn’t stop coming.

Tooru remembers it like a wound that hasn’t healed yet. He still sees Hajime dying, blood and more blood and his beautiful eyes, gone forever. He still feels the pounding of his heart, that echoed with fear. He hadn’t seen Hajime for two weeks, unable to leave his bed. Tooru remembers seeing flashes of the future and hating every one of his breaths, because it was always the same. It meant he was unable to change the fatality of Hajime’s destiny.

He had been so happy when he had seen the southern’s prince die, as well. Everything had started to shape into logic actions, instead of a blur of death and death and more death. Tobio’s death came in the same place Hajime's had: a war between nations that could have been stopped, but that no one did.

“You know I didn’t,” Tooru answers, fury making his words come out in green clouds. “I did everything I could to save your son and your kingdom. I avoided a war and thousands of deaths. I took my worst fear and built hope with it!” Tooru closes his fists and feels his magic fill them. “You might be my king, but I don’t allow you to ever, ever put in doubt that everything I do is for Hajime’s benefit.”

 

The king grounds him to his room.

Tooru would laugh, if he wasn’t as tired as he is. In another life, he would have been happy, for a grounding have strong fatherly connotations. As things are now, though, Tooru can’t care less about parental figures or his king’s approval.

Two days after the order comes, Hanamaki brings the news.

“The king’s sick in bed,” he says while he hands Tooru a bag of pastries. “The doctor says his life’s not in danger, but he should rest for a while.”

Hanamaki bites one of the sweets. “I think he’s finally going through his sadness.”

“Well, good for him,” Tooru bites, bitter and angry.

“Maybe you should do the same.” Tooru kills him with a deadly glare. Hanamaki shrugs. “It was only an idea.”

“I don’t need your ideas, thank you.”

“I care to differ.”

Tooru doesn’t answer. Hanamaki has been coming around everyday since the incident with the king, once at morning, once at night. He never talks much, he always brings food, and Tooru should not be hating him as much as he’s doing, but he can’t help himself.

“Issei’s not talking to me,” Hanamaki says all of the sudden.

Tooru blinks at him, worried, the hate forgotten with that single sentence. “Is he mad?”

“I think so,” Hanamaki takes another bite from his sweet. “I don’t know. It’s not as if we've been talking much, lately, anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Tooru’s staring at him as if he’s seeing him for the first time.

Hanamaki shrugs again. “We stopped seeing each other when Hajime left.”

“What,” Tooru blinks, and then blinks again, and again, trying to understand Hanamaki’s words. “Why?”

“I’m not sure, he didn’t say.” Tooru stares at Hanamaki for long seconds. When his friend finally looks back at him, Tooru arches his eyebrows. “I think he has some fucked up moral idea going around his head,” Hanamaki finally gives in. “Something along the lines of: Hajime can’t have Oikawa, so I don’t deserve Takahiro.”

Tooru thinks it through.

“That’s stupid.”

“I agree.”

“Why do you let him go through with it?”

Hanamaki looks at Tooru with a gaze full of innuendo. “You know why.”

“But— But, you could— You both could be—” Tooru feels a ghost hand around his throat.

“Could we?” Hanamaki looks at his hands, sadness filling his usually cheerful expression. “We were hiding all the time. He’s the successor prince, now. I might love him, but I don’t want to be anyone’s secret.”

Tooru’s chest crashes with an invisible weight. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“Take that expression away,” Hanamaki hands him a pastry. “This is not your fault. It’s no one’s fault. The odds… just didn’t work out.”

 

 

They never hear about Hajime’s wedding. It should have happened after a year of Hajime’s arrival to the Southern Lands, but when the time comes and passes and not even a note is delivered to the North Kingdom, a dark mood settles between them all.

Tooru carries that mood with him to the fourth meeting of the council of mages. During the last month, when he wasn’t worrying about Hajime’s silence, Tooru had been training some of the younger mages to become ministers. It has been exhausting. Knowing they still have a long way to go before they can be sent to the side kingdoms makes Tooru wince.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

“Seriously?” Tooru doesn’t bother turning around. “You should renew your pick up lines or you will die alone.”

Kuroo grimaces. “I know. I’ve been having some troubles lately with my infallible flirt.”

“Your flirt has never been infallible,” Tooru says, deadpan.

“So you say,” they both take a sip of their drinks. “How’s the ministers issue going?”

“Is this a friends conversation, or an official one?”

Kuroo’s not fast enough to hide the discomfort of such question. “I know it’s fair, but damn it, Oikawa, your distrust hurts like hell.”

“You’re the one who reminded me we are biased.”

“Will you ever trust me?”

Tooru thinks it through. Does he trust Kuroo? The answer is yes. Does that trust extend to the care of his kingdom? Tooru’s pretty sure the answer is no.

“Probably,” he gives in after a minute. “This council’s not old enough to answer that question properly.”

“Mage Oikawa, Mage Kuroo,” they both turn around to face Sugawara’s serene smile. “It’s nice seeing you.”

Tooru doesn’t reply. Instead, he puts his glass into his lips and sips. Soundly. Kuroo chuckles at Sugawara’s arched brow. “Mature.”

“How’s the south doing, Mage Sugawara?” Kuroo asks, a smirk breaking the politeness of his voice.

“Suga’s fine,” the mage sighs. “And the south’s fine as well. How’s the north, Oikawa?”

Tooru doesn’t miss Sugawara’s implication. “The north’s perfectly well, thank you for asking.”

“They haven’t received any letters about the wedding.” Tooru spits at Kuroo’s words.

“What the— Kuroo, shut it.”

Sugawara laughs. “Of course they haven’t.” Tooru wants to murder him. “The wedding hasn’t happened yet.”

It takes way too long for the words to register. “What do you mean, it hasn’t happened yet?”

“Well, there’re some things the princes wanted to handle before taking that step.”

“Hajime went to the south to marry your prince and secure his life,” Tooru’s trembling. His hands are trembling, his breathing is trembling, his fucking heart is trembling. “You cannot break the deal. You can’t—”

“Prince Hajime’s safe and sound,” Sugawara cuts him, a sharp edge in his voice. “Southerns never break their promises.”

“I have historical facts that proof you wrong,” Tooru hisses at him over Kuroo.

“You’re the one who sent him to us,” the southern mage lifts his chin, finishing the argument. “Well, I’ll be sitting now, since the meeting’s gonna start soon. Nice talk.”

There’s a pitch sound in Tooru’s ears when he watchs Sugawara leave. His brain has stopped all its functions right in the moment Hajime’s not–happening–wedding has processed.

“Oi, Oikawa, are you okay?”

Gods help him, he’s everything but okay.  
  
  


 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tooru’s almost fifteen when he meets Sugawara Koushi for the first time.

It’s not a nice meeting, with the blood involved and all. Tooru’s not sure if he can even call it a meeting, given they are standing in the corner of a vision. A bloody vision, of both their princes.

“What’s this,” Sugawara asks, trembling. Tooru notices how young and fragile he seems, the silver hair grey in the sick light of fate.

“War,” Tooru answers.

“Why am I here?”

Tooru can’t answer that, for he doesn’t know. “Did you bring me here?”

Tooru shakes his head. “No. I didn’t know it was possible.”

“What?”

“Shared visions.”

They continue to stare into the battlefield. Tooru sees Hajime die, Hanamaki die, Issei get severely injured. He’s barely paying attention to the other line’s soldiers, but he does see Tobio getting stabbed awfully close to his heart. Sugawara gasps when his prince falls to the ground and he hides his eyes when several horses gallop over him.

“Make it stop,” he begs.

“I wish I could,” Tooru whispers.

The massacre continues. The death of the princes doesn’t make the armies stop their insane advance. In fact, both parties get overly enraged by their youngest death, and clash like Titans with one another. The vision takes mere minutes in Tooru’s and Sugawara’s lifetime, but represents a reality of long days of fight.

When the vision fades, Tooru and Sugawara stay suspended in black air. They are side to side, unable to face each other. The images of blood and tragedy seem to linger in the space in front of them.

“What was that?”

“The future.”

“I’m not a clairvoyant,” Sugawara says, teeth clashing.

“Neither am I.”

“Then… how?” Sugawara’s facing Tooru now. Tooru’s gaze, though, is still glued to the memory of Hajime, falling, dead.

“I think we are supposed to stop it from happening,” he finally turns around and looks at Sugawara. Tooru winces, for the other’s mage expression’s drowning in sorrow. “I think we have to find the alternative.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Oikawa Tooru, the Northern Kingdom’s mage. You are Sugawara Koushi, the Southern Land’s mage. Our princes will die in the battlefield five years from now, if we don’t stop it. If our kingdoms don’t reach peace, both of them will lose the heirs, and end up in famine due to the cost of war.”

Sugawara’s eyes are piercing. Tooru, who has seen this nightmare countless times by now, stays unaffected by the reality of it. His heart might be broken into thousand pieces, but it’s known pain by now. The distrust in Sugawara’s eyes barely processes in Tooru’s messed up soul.

“How do I know it’s not a trick?”

“Why would I trick you?”

“Leverage, power, money. The answers are infinite.”

Tooru looks into the nothingness that surrounds them. “The only thing I want is Hajime safe.”

“What you’ve shown me—”

“I didn’t,” Tooru cuts, sharply. “I didn’t do anything. I thought this was only mine, but it seems I can’t fix it on my own. Magic thought I needed you, to make things right.”

Sugawara looks around them. “I need to talk with my royals, before I make any decision. I will be in touch.”

He vanishes, but Tooru doesn’t. He stays in this dark space, filled with nothing. Tooru looks around himself and feels the tears start to run down his cheeks. The sounds of battle embrace him, his own cry, _Hajime!_ , echoing through the void.

Tooru wakes up, alone in his room. He crawls into a fetal position and lets his sobs come, hard and painful.

That’s the night Tooru’s distance comes to life. With the image of Hajime dying burned forever in his mind, distance’s the only answer Tooru finds, to avoid madness. He yearns for Hajime, and that sweet kiss he had longed since forever. Tooru reminds himself, between sobs, that those memories are the reason why he has to do this.

Hajime needs to live, and for that to happen, Tooru needs to have his mind clean of pain and emotion. Tooru needs distance, so he can see the future with enough perspective. Tooru needs distance, so he can change what should be unchangeable.

Tooru cries himself to sleep. He dreams of Hajime and of the sweetest of goodbyes.  


 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

 

“Why should it be today?” Tooru’s yelling at Hanamaki.

The soldier, arms crossed in front of his chest, says nothing. “Makki, we need to go back. Now.”

“I already told you. We are not doing that. You are the one who suggested this,” Hanamaki gestures at the guest house. “You are the one who said this would make it easier.”

“By easier I meant _controllable_.”

“Yes, I know that,” Hanamaki sighs, filled up with Tooru’s bullshit. “He won’t marry tomorrow. This doesn’t change anything at all.”

“This changes everything!” Tooru screams with fierce at Hanamaki, who stays unaffected. “They could kill Hajime. He has to marry Tobio, otherwise—”

“Otherwise what? Tooru, for god’s sake, stop for a second and think. The south can’t afford going to war with us.”

“They can if they win all the other’s nations support,” Tooru’s starting to hyperventilate. “They can, if I gave them the opportunity to unite their mages and talk their strategies through.”

Hanamaki frowns. He’s a soldier, after all, so the logic behind Tooru’s theory doesn’t go unnoticed. “Tobio still dies if we go to war.”

“After Hajime does!”

“Tooru, fuck, reign your cool back. This is not the time, nor the place for you to lose your shit. We’re surrounded by potential threats. Just— Chill, man. Chill. Just for tonight.”

Yahaba, Kunimi and Kyoutani turn the corner of the house, as if summoned by Hanamaki’s plea. The three mages in training bow at their superiors once they get close enough. Tooru looks at them and then looks back at Hanamaki. He’s panting, furiously so. Hanamaki’s watching him as if he’s one step from killing him. Tooru knows he’s right —he won’t admit it out loud—, this is not the time to lose his cool. He needs his clinical mind now more than ever.

With iron strength, Tooru focuses on his lungs, forcing his breathing to even.

“Well, my adorable minions. Did you have fun?” Tooru’s voice cracks a bit, but no one comments on it.

“It was… interesting,” Yahaba offers.

“This people are shitty boring,” Kyoutani adds. As much as Tooru agrees, he sighs at Kyoutani’s use of words.

“Kyou–chan, if a minister’s ever caught saying such words, he would have to face severe consequences..”

“Whatever,” he mutters, gaze glued at his feet. “I don’t even know why we have to be ministers in the first place.”

“To avoid war,” Hanamaki answers, before Tooru loses his shit again. “That’s diplomacy. And that’s what the three of you need to master before the year ends.”

The three of them look at Hanamaki, clearly intimidated.

“That’s a lot of pressure,” Yahaba points out.

“That’s why we are training you,” Tooru smiles. “And that’s why we’re here tonight. It will help you try that diplomacy without the fear of starting a war, in case you fuck it up.”

“Nice,” Kyoutani’s voice spills acid. “What if we fuck it up?”

“I will decide your punishment accordingly.”

The three of them flinch, Tooru’s smile not fooling them into believing this is going to be easy. Tooru looks at them three one second more, evaluating their faces and stances. He just hopes, gods, hopes they will be strong enough. To do what they have to, to learn to put themselves last and the kingdom first, always. No matter the personal cost.

They get into the guest house.

It’s loud, extremely so. Tooru grimaces, really regretting his decision. A stupid mage camp for minister’s trainees had seemed almost genius, when Tooru was safe and sound in his room, enjoying his preferred silence.

“What is this,” Kunimi mutters, disbelief in his face. It would be a funny sight, if Tooru wasn’t feeling him so much.

“This, my magic minions, is a ministers camp,” Tooru smiles, or at least he thinks he does. Yahaba’s looking at him with a weird expression, while Hanamaki’s trying to hold his laugh, the damn bastard. “We organised this so you could meet the other kingdoms’ mages and ministers.”

“It’s loud,” Kunimi adds, as if Tooru’s ears hadn’t already acknowledged that.

“I miss training camps,” Hanamaki sighs, melancholy filling his expression.

Tooru’s one step from murdering him and his happy face. “Yes, well, you’re not here to have fun. You’re here as a chaperone.” Hanamaki winces.

“Isn’t this dangerous?” Yahaba murmurs, close to Tooru’s ear.

“For my sanity, yes,” Tooru looks at Yahaba from the corner of his eyes. “For you, not at all. I will destroy this place before anyone can hurt any of you.”

It’s not an empty threat. The three of them seem to sigh in relief at Tooru’s absolute words. They all look around at the people gathered in groups. Their words seem almost material, in the small space they occupy.

 _Just tonight, just tonight_ , Tooru reminds himself. Hajime will survive tonight. Hajime won’t die, when Tooru’s working his soul off to bring peace. Hajime can’t die, when Tooru has given everything to avoid such tragedy.

 

 

Why, Tooru wonders, is he forced to spend all his damn reunions with mages like Sugawara Koushi and Kuroo Tetsurou. What, in the name of the gods of Earth, has he done to deserve such punishment.

Kuroo could be acceptable, if he wasn’t drunk.

Sugawara will never be acceptable.

“You’re still mad at me, aren’t you,” Suga asks him, his purple smoked drink in combination with his crown of pearls.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tooru doesn’t take his gaze away from his little mages, who are talking —well, Yahaba’s talking—, with a group of southern’s and weastern’s mages.

Sugawara snorts. “Of course you don’t.”

“If you have something to say,” Tooru notes, the words barely leaving his clenched teeth, “just say it.”

The southern mage takes a sip of his hideous drink. “You hate me.” Tooru doesn’t deny it. “You have no right to hate me.”

“I have the right to feel whatever I want to feel, thank you very much.”

“You’re the one who forced me into this.”

Tooru wonders what _this_ means to Sugawara. “I don’t know what that means, either.”

“You hid information,” Sugawara reminds him. “And made me believe a marriage was the only solution.”

“It was,” it was, if Tooru wanted to ensure Hajime’s safety.

“No, it wasn’t,” Sugawara drinks a bit more. Kuroo, who has been listening with his gaze lost in his own group of mages, chuckles a bit. “What’s so funny?”

“You both are,” he turns around, he’s usual smirk softer, the alcohol taking his fake façade away. “You’ve made peace possible, and still try to slide each other’s throat open. You’re hilarious.”

“And you’re drunk,” Tooru hisses. “I don’t care for a drunk’s opinion.”

Kuroo shrugs and takes his gaze back to his little mages. They’ve joined Tooru’s and Suga’s, the small group growing and growing, bonding. Tooru finds himself wishing Kyoutani would lose his temper and make a scene, just to give Tooru an excuse to escape the presence of these two.

“I don’t want to slide your throat open,” Sugawara offers, still hiding behind that damned drink.

“I do,” Tooru has lost his cool again, of course he has. Hanamaki has disappeared somewhere, probably running away from his chaperon duty. At least Tooru can still pretend he has his own emotions under control, in front of Kuroo and Sugawara.

Tooru checks his mental barriers, just to be sure.

“I know you don’t mean that.” Tooru grimaces, avoiding Sugawara’s gaze. “I’m not reading you, but— There’s no reason for you to hate me.”

“If you hurt Hajime, I will kill you,” Tooru’s threat is a mere whisper, but Kuroo and Sugawara tense in response as if Tooru had just drawn a sword.

“That’s dangerous, Oikawa,” Kuroo says, his eyes sharp and awake. “You should not throw threats like that, not in here.”

“It’s not a threat, it’s a promise.”

“I won’t hurt Hajime,” Sugawara’s gaze’s intense. “That’s also a promise.”

The words are magic, just like Sugawara is. They take this invisible weight away Tooru has been harvesting since the early meeting, allowing him to finally breath, deeply.

“This— This mess, has never been my fault,” Sugawara continues, and Tooru winces, jumping out of his skin. He can’t have this conversation right now. “If you’ve been honest with me—”

“I had been seeing my prince die every night for months,” Tooru raged voice comes out green. “At the hands of your army. I saw your colours and your standards, your fucking silky clothes and your stupid colourful armours destroying what I was born to protect. For. Months,” Tooru’s gaze burns into Sugawara’s. “There’s no way I could trust you.”

“You should have,” it’s a whisper, but it _hurts_. “I would have worked for a solution, a better solution. Marriage has never been a trick we enjoy playing.”

Of course it isn’t, and Tooru knows it now as he had known it when he decided to work with Sugawara, seven years ago. “You know why I did what I did.”

“You thought I would betray you.” Tooru doesn’t answer. “You saw more visions, where Tobio maybe didn’t die, but where Hajime always did. Am I right?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Tooru shakes his head. “The possibility of war’s gone. We’ve built peace, as fragile as it may seem.”

Sugawara’s looking at him with enough intensity to make a hole into Tooru’s skull. “I agree.” Tooru breathes in. “It would have been long and exhausting, if you hadn’t made us believe a marriage was the only way to ensure peace,” Sugawara wets his dry throat with the rest of his drink. “But now… you’ve built this,” he points at the kids. They’re laughing, four kingdoms united through their youngest. The same youngest Tooru had seen die. “You’ve built peace. And future.”

Tooru feels Sugawara’s trying to give him some peace of mind. _You gave away your love_ , he seems to say, _but at least it was worth it._

Tooru doesn’t want that message, Tooru doesn’t want anything at all. He’s done what he’s supposed to do. And he will keep doing it. He will train his little magic babies and he will work to make the council of mages a reality. Tooru’s going to dedicate his life to build the foundation of the future, but in the meanwhile, he will still regret his choices. He will come back to that night under Hajime’s sheets, where they kissed for the first time, and he will wonder: _what if I haven’t kissed him that night. What if I haven’t given myself to him._

_What if, what if, what if._

 

  
Tooru’s shaken awake by two small, two really energetic hands.

He has fallen asleep in the same sit he had been drinking on, Sugawara and Kuroo snoring above the table at his sides.

What a pitiful scene, he thinks, before his blurry sight focuses on the person who’s still shaking him.

“What,” he croaks, his voice broken. “What happened? Who are you?”

“Sorry, sir,” the voice sounds awfully loud, for a whisper. “I didn’t want to bother you, but I have to give you something before everyone wakes up!”

He’s smiling. Tooru thinks he’s a kid, until he realises he must be Kunimi’s age, by the mage marks on his temples. Still a kid, but an older one. The shinny orange of his hair hurts Tooru’s sensible eyes and marks him undoubtedly as a southern.

Damn colorful bsastards.

“What.”

The kid’s fidgety beyond repair, almost jumping from toe to toe. “I can’t say much, but— I’m Prince Hajime’s friend,” Tooru’s heart falls to the ground and crashes. _I’m Prince Hajime’s friend_. Prince. Hajime’s. Friend. The words echo like a dead sentence making Tooru’s world stop in its tracks and break free from its axis. “I— I was asked to give you this, if I ever had the opportunity to do so,” he gives a small white package to Tooru, who can’t find his strength anywhere. He tries to force his hand to move, but they won’t leave the safety of his lap. He’s trembling. His whole body’s trembling.

The kid loses his patience. He leaves the package above the table, right in front of Tooru’s eyes. The little mage bows, then, and disappears as silently as he has destroyed Tooru’s world.

Tooru doesn’t know how long he stares at the small, insignificant package without moving. He’s not even sure if he’s blinking. Guilt’s melting his insides, the reminder that he had sent Hajime away without even an explanation. That he had let distance grow between them, without giving Hajime the chance to fight back.

Tooru looks at Sugawara, still sound asleep. He looks younger and calm, the crown twisted in his hair. Tooru has always known how southern customs go. He had used them against the southerns themselves, after all. But now— Hajime knows, Hajime must know everything, for southerns are not but fucking honest.

He takes the package. Tooru’s not sure how his hands manage to do it, the trembling of his fingers almost a sickness. It takes Tooru a minute to finally open the damn thing and he barely holds the sob, when he sees what’s inside.

A small sword, craved in wood. The exact replica of the sword Tooru had stolen from Earth, and that had later become Prince Hajime’s insignia.

Tooru holds it tight in his hand. It barely weights, not like the real one, not like knowing Hajime has made this for Tooru. The mage stares at it for hours, hoping, gods, wishing it’s hope what the sword stands for.

A small token from Hajime’s heart:

_I forgive you._

Tooru puts the sword against his forehead and drinks from it.


	4. Summer

Hajime’s four.

In the years to come, when age and height start shaping his mind, his memories will vanish. Hajime’s parents will tell him, _you can’t possibly remember that, Hajime, you were too young._ For the most part, they will be right.

For this, though. This, Hajime will never forget.

It is true that, in those future years, the memory will shift. It will become something full of senses, a dream of bottled emotions and smells and colours. It will probably be inaccurate if the details are accounted, but the details are not important.

Hajime is four when he meets for the first time his mage.

He’s four and short, although still taller than Issei. At this moment, Hajime still doesn’t know that, when him and his little brother reach twelve, Issei’s gonna start growing out of control, surpassing Hajime's height before none of them can even notice it. It doesn’t bother Hajime, now, because of course he doesn’t know yet. But ah, how nostalgic will he feel, when reached that point, he looks back at this moment. How much will he regret not enjoying the bliss of being the tallest, now.

Issei’s glued at his side. Hajime feels grown and proud, the weight of responsibility a bit too much in his small shoulders, but he carries it with honour. When Issei was born Hajime had hated him with every small cell of his body. That, too, is something he can’t remember, but his parents cannot forget. Hajime doesn’t really believe it, though. He can’t imagine a world where he would not adore his little brother.

Issei’s glued at Hajime’s side, the perfect excuse. If someone were paying attention to the little princes, they may have noticed how both of them are trembling out of control. Hajime has Issei’s hand firmly held between his and he thanks the gods, because that’s the only thing that’s keeping him from escaping the room.

The atmosphere’s overwhelming. The weight of thousands of gazes, the pressure of a royal decree, as if Hajime, being four, could really make the right decision. The room’s silent, a line of people waiting for Hajime’s hand to change their futures forever.

“Well,” the king says, with a sigh. He kneels in front of Hajime, the little prince barely able to hold his father’s gaze. “Have you decided, Hajime?”

Hajime has not decided yet. Hajime cannot decide. He’s only four, but even he understands how much there’s at stake, here. Not only his, not only the courts life, but all of these people’s as well.

“You need to choose, Hajime,” his mom says, then. She kneels beside his father and smiles down at him. Hajime holds Issei’s hands tighter, anchoring himself before losing the battle against fear. “You know how to do it.”

That’s a lie. Mom doesn’t usually lie much, but she just did. Hajime doesn’t tell her that, but deep down he feels betrayed. She always says, _your instinct will tell you_ , but Hajime doesn’t understand what instinct means. He only sees his parents, enormous in this throne room, and the court, filling it like the ocean fills the earth.

Mom makes them walk, then. The mages, not the princes. Issei and Hajime stay still, holding each other, watching the men and women walk and walk. It looks like a parade, a weird, perverse parade. Hajime sees them and he sees colours getting blurred and faces getting weird. Now he’s overwhelmed by all the information he’s trying to divide, but once he grows and remembers, he will see all of them with animal faces drown into shadows.

All of them, except one.

Looking back, it will be simple to understand, how easy it really is.

Now, though. Now nothing’s easy, for Hajime’s still too focused on this weird thing he’s supposed to do right, but he can’t barely grasp.

“Hajime, love, pick.”

One step before fleeing, Issei at his side, Hajime sees him.

It’s the worst choice. Hajime knows it because he’s the last one on the line. Hajime knows it, because he’s dirty and he’s wearing broken clothes. Hajime knows it, because he sees how his parents share a look, and then a grimace.

Hajime will later tell his mom it was instinct, what forced his hand. It’s what she always claims it’s important, after all. He will also tell his father he had _known_ , the hidden strength of that strange boy.

Those words will be lies. Hajime’s instinct is dead, or asleep, or it doesn’t work at all. Hajime’s instinct’s absence it’s what makes him choose.

Hajime’s four and the boy’s four too. When Hajime sees his tears, the weeping, his eyes fixed into a woman down the room, Hajime has no choice. It’s like Issei, still hiding his face into Hajime’s shoulder. It’s like that kid on the kitchen, who Hajime has seen bullied by some of the older soldiers. In the future, when Hajime becomes the heir and his chosen mage the royal one, he will keep his lie. He will say: _it was destiny_.

Tooru doesn’t become the royal mage thanks to destiny, because destiny doesn’t exist. He will not make history thanks to Hajime’s instinct, because Hajime’s instinct won’t do the work.

At the age of four, Hajime choses Tooru for the first time. No instinct or destiny involved. Just an ugly face filled with tears and that stupid, stupid need of cleaning them away. Just a little prince with a heart too big and a little mage with the same problem.

When Hajime grows and remembers this day, Tooru’s face will shine like a sun. A guiding star, on the dark nights to come.  


 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

 

“I need to talk to you.”

Hajime’s gaze rises on a beat, locking with Sugawara’s. The mage’s standing on the door’s frame, the light of the late sun making his crown shine in greens and reds, matching his clothes. Hajime’s been living in the south for almost two years now, but he will never get used to those damned colourful clothes.

Sugawara’s expression doesn’t look as colourful as usual, which says a lot, since Sugawara’s not but absurdly pale. Hajime needs a second to realise it’s the light in his eyes, that seems faded.

“Did something happen?”

“Doesn’t something always happen?” Hajime’s not fond of the sad smile Sugawara gives him.

“Has Hinata hurt himself again?” Hajime’s already standing when Sugawara shakes his head. Confused, the prince frowns. “Is it Tobio?”, another shake. “Another mage?”, when Sugawara’s head keeps moving side to side, Hajime loses his patience. “What is it, then. Just speak.”

In another time, Sugawara would call him out, for ordering him around. _You are not my prince, Hajime, but my friend. Don’t confuse me with one of your servers._ But now, Sugawara’s shoulders rise, hiding his face. Hajime’s throat gets filled with an uncomfortable knot.

“Is it— Is it Tooru?”, the name burns his lips, panic forcing his heartbeat to maximums. “Has something happened to Tooru?”

Sugawara takes an eternity to answer. Hajime’s across the room and holding the mage before he realises what he’s doing. “Suga!”

“He’s fine,” the mage whispers. “He’s fine. The future northern ministers are also fine. Hanamaki’s also fine. Everything’s fine.”

“What is it, then.”

Sugawara gets rid of Hajime’s hands. “Do you remember what we talked, when you saved Hinata?”, Hajime blinks at him, trying to remember. It’s been almost a year, since that incident. “Right after the first meeting of the council of mages,” Sugawara explains.

Hajime nods, remembering now. “I remember,” he cares not to repeat his own words, but Sugawara’s not in a good enough mood to let him have it.

“You said you will always be a northern,” Hajime winces. “No matter what. You’ve saved one of ours, you care for us, but your place’s still north.”

“You know why—,” Hajime’s been studying for almost two years with the southern mages, and yet, he can’t even hold his thoughts, before they fly free towards Sugawara’s hands. Hajime’s emotions have never been subtle, making controlling them an impossible feat. Sugawara grimaces. “You know I care about this country as well. You’re my people too… in a different way.”

“I told you, you could have married Tobio if that’s what you wanted,” Sugawara’s gaze has an edge to it. Hajime doesn’t like it, at all.

“And I told you it’s not power what I want.”

“No,” Sugawara’s sad smile could cut meat. “It’s your mage, what you want.”

“It’s my kingdom,” Hajime corrects him. He feels they’ve been having this argument under the radar for months, always speaking around the topic but never addressing it directly. “It’s my people. I was born and raised to protect them.”

“I just wish—,” Sugawara hugs himself. Hajime’s stomach drops to the floor. “I wish you’d have grown to see us as your people, too.”

Hajime knows Sugawara will never understand, for he has made up his mind to not do so.

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“Sometimes I wish I could hate him,” Sugawara says, instead of answering. Hajime flinches. “He’s proud and manipulative and a liar. He represents everything I’m against. And yet,” Sugawara lets out a dry laugh. “He gave everything to save you. And then, the small he had left, he gave it away to build peace, just because he had promised you he would.”

“He never promised,” Hajime mutters, without even realising what he’s saying.

Sugawara chuckles. “Hajime, your life is that promise.”

“That’s it? You wanna discuss Oikawa?” Hajime’s enraged, now. Furious. He doesn’t talk about Oikawa. He doesn’t mention or think or dream about Oikawa. He can’t. He carries his sword at his hip like a damn cross, a scar. Hajime had had a dream and then the dream broke and now there’s the afterlife.

In the afterlife, Oikawa cannot exist, for the pain of his absence it’s way too heavy to carry.

“I want to discuss you, Hajime, and what you really want.”

Sugawara knows perfectly well what Hajime really wants.

“Oh, no. I’m not letting you play the mage’s trick here, Hajime. If you want it, you say it,” Sugawara growls.

“You’re being cruel right now,” Hajime lets him know. “Why?”

“Just say the words, Hajime!”

“I want my kingdom! I want peace! I don’t want to be forced to choose!” Hajime doesn’t allow himself to say Tooru’s name, but it doesn’t matter, for Tooru’s name’s hidden in every small wish Hajime has.

Sugawara smiles, then. A real, soft, tender smile that takes Hajime completely by surprise. “Well, then. Wish granted.”

“What?” Hajime watches him with a blank expression. When Sugawara handles him a black envelope, Hajime just stares at it with wary eyes. “What’s that?”

“Open it and you’ll find out.”

“Are you killing me off?”

Sugawara rolls his eyes. “No.” Hajime takes the letter and starts opening it. “Not you.” Hajime doesn’t move, in the silence that follows. He’s not sure if he’s even breathing. “I might— I might have done something pretty reckless, Hajime.”

Hajime blinks, and blinks, and blinks again, but the situation doesn’t change. The letter’s still in his hands, Sugawara’s still looking as if he’s just one step from dying and Hajime’s heart’s almost bursting into flames.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve always known your wish, Hajime,” Sugawara confesses in a whisper. “I’ve always known Oikawa was playing us. I just— I craved for peace. I wanted Tobio to be safe. I wanted Shouyou to be safe. I wanted my kingdom and my people to breathe and to live happy lives, away from war. I’ve always been just like Oikawa. With the difference that, given the time, I didn’t have to sacrifice anything at all.” Hajime’s staring at him, unable to process. Sugawara’s gaze’s glued to the floor. “I took advantage of you, because you’re northerns, because I saw your people killing my young, innocent prince.”

“I’m not following,” Hajime finally murmurs, finding his voice. “I don’t understand.”

“I played you,” Sugawara says again, but repeating it still doesn’t make the trick. Hajime’s lost, in the amount of senseless words that are filling the air. “I accepted the marriage request, knowing I could work a way to keep Tobio out of it. I planned to have you excluded, as soon as you crossed the border. But then— Then Oikawa put his life at stake and built a council. And then you took all the stones I put on your path and saved Hinata. I miscalculated,” Sugawara’s eyes are wide open, Hajime’s pretty sure the mage’s deep in shock. “I miscalculated. I didn’t think you’d be a person worth protecting. I didn’t think Tooru’d be a person worth protecting.”

“Suga, what have you done?”

Sugawara’s gaze finally locks with Hajime’s. It’s filled with madness. “I broke the peace accord, Hajime. I found the loose end. I can send you back.”

 

Tooru’s not happy, when he’s summoned to an urgent council meeting without any further explanation than a simple: _we request your presence_. Well, Tooru requests his freedom to refuse, but nor his king nor the others kingdoms’ mages are happy to hear that.

Hanamaki’s absence is almost a physical being. Tooru holds himself proud and mighty while he walks down the aisle, two quiet soldiers at his sides, but it doesn’t come easy. His smile’s steady, though. A royal mage would never show any sign of discomfort, even in times of peace.

Although, well, it looks like the times of peace are over. Sooner than anyone expected.

Tooru reaches the end of the room, a small chorus of mages reunited. It’s less people than Tooru expected, but still enough to fill the silence. Kuroo’s spiky hair comes in sight as soon as Tooru stops. When the eastern mage takes a step forward and faces Tooru, the reason why they are all here comes to light.

It’s wrong, the way they’ve tied him up. Sugawara’s face looks grey and ashy, his hair a mess around his shoulders. Tooru’s gaze moves to his crown, crashed between the mage’s knees. Someone has decided to take justice by their hand and Tooru’s not pleased.

“Who did this?” Tooru’s voice is flat and empty of emotion, a threat on itself. The room quiets, not even heartbeats can be heard. “I asked, who did this?”

Kuroo clicks his tongue. He’s looking at all the presents with the same murderous gaze Tooru knows he’s also wearing. Relief sweeps over him. _Thank you for not letting Kuroo be the worst of us._

“This,” Tooru says after the silence becomes eternal. He takes a step towards Sugawara, who’s hiding behind his hair, and kneels in front of him. Tooru’s fingers are gentle when he checks his friend’s wounds. “This is not acceptable.”

“Who pointed you master of this, anyway?” The voice’s small and hidden in the back. Tooru doesn’t even bother giving the order.

He’s already standing when Watari and Kindaichi drag the man forward. Tooru’s gaze never leaves Sugawara’s trembling body. “I made this. For the marks you’re carrying,” Tooru looks at him for a second, “I can see you’ve barely done your years of service.”

“I have more marks than you do!”

Watari doesn’t even blink, when he holds and bends the man’s arm behind his back. Hard. The mage yells in answer.

“Kuroo.” Kuroo, who has been watching the man with wide eyes, flinches at the sound of his name. “Please, take him back home and teach him how to…” Sugawara’s bowed head makes Tooru’s insides twist with rage. “Just take him away from my sight.”

Kuroo compels. Tooru feels his rage coming in and out in burning breaths. He’s pretty sure the whole of his body’s shinning in green.

No one says anything.

“Koushi,” Tooru whispers. It’s barely a sound, but Sugawara cringes. “Koushi, what have you done?”

Sugawara doesn’t answer. Tooru can’t control the trembling of his hands every time his eyes fall into one of his bleeding wounds, in one of his dark bruises.

“He broke the peace accords, Mage Oikawa,” someone offers, then. Tooru’s gaze barely leaves Sugawara’s form to face the speaker.

It’s one of the southern’s ministers.

“Yes, I’m aware of that,” Tooru’s frustration’s clear in his voice. “I wasn’t asking for what I already know.”

The innuendo does finally the job, for Sugawara lifts his head, uncovering himself. Tooru can’t but grimace at the state of his broken lip and the dry blood under his nose. “Welcome back,” Tooru’s smile is small and warm and it could be sad, but Tooru doesn’t allow himself that privilege. “Will you tell me now what you’ve done?”

Sugawara barely shakes his head. “What do you know?” The southern’s voice is broken and dry.

“I’m the one who asks the questions,” Tooru tells him. “You lost that right when you forced us into this, Koushi.”

The way Sugawara tries to hug himself at the sound of his given name shows better than words how weak he’s feeling. Tooru holds his chin when Sugawara tries to hide his face into his own chest, and forces him to lock his gaze with Tooru’s. “I need to know what you’ve done.”

“I broke the accords.”

Tooru grunts. “Yes, Koushi, we’ve already cleared that up. Can we step to the next part, please?” Tooru’s heart beats a bit happier, when Sugawara’s eyes shine with moderated frustration. _There he is_. “Like: how the fuck did you do it?”

Sugawara’s gaze falls to his crown, avoiding Tooru’s expecting expression. The seconds almost click in the air, when Sugawara keeps his lips shut.

“He broke into your room,” Kuroo finally answers. Tooru turns around and faces him, half surprised half annoyed.

“I thought you were escorting your little mage out of this place,” the threat underneath Tooru’s words is everything except subtle.

“I have. He’s waiting for my soldiers to drag his fucking ass home.”

“I hope he enjoys it,” Tooru casually adds.

Kuroo’s smirk has enough edge to kill dragons, when he answers: “Me too.”

Tooru, still on the floor besides Sugawara, brings his attention back to him. It may seem odd, Tooru guesses, to see the judge putting himself in the same level as the one being judged.

“Well, Koushi.” Sugawara clears his throat. “So you broke into my room. How childish of you.” Sugawara’s body tenses at Tooru’s casual tone. “If you wanted something, you should have asked.”

“Don’t play me,” Sugawara growls, then, showing his teeth. Tooru’s chest burst into flames, Sugawara’s eyes filled with fire. “Say whatever you want to say. Don’t play me.”

“I want to know why you thought breaking into my room would break the peace,” Tooru blinks and smiles and smiles a bit wider, in that way he has of making his cheeks move just the right amount. Sugawara watches him, first with a frown, then with an expression filled with white and shattered panic.

“What do you mean, would?” It’s Kuroo, who asks. “He _broke_ the accords.”

Tooru waves his hands in Kuroo’s direction, discarding his words. “We will come back to that later, Kuroo. Can you please let me continue with my conversation?”

The eastern mage just puts his hands in the air and shakes his head, obviously lost in Tooru’s senseless rant.

“Koushi, could you please answer my question?”

“The accords state that none of the kingdoms involved can or will invade other’s kingdoms grounds without previous notice. In doing so, it will be considered an act of war.”

Tooru huffs, soundly. “ _I_ wrote that. Why’s everyone in this damn place telling me the things I already know?”

“Then, what is that you don’t know?”

Tooru does not move. His hand’s paralysed in its way to Sugawara’s shoulder, his legs frozen, his heart stopped inside his chest. Not even time moves, when that voice finally processes. Tooru, who’s emotional state hasn’t been its best in the last hours, feels his insides shatter.

It becomes eternal, a single fraction of time that lingers for ongoing seconds. Tooru’s aware of his hand, still in the air, of his breathing, still pumping air into his lungs. If Tooru focuses a bit more, he can see the division of his own cells, the dust flying in front of him. Tooru, with all his might, tries to see everything else. Everything, except that voice.

That voice can’t be here. In this moment, in this exact moment, that voice cannot exist.

Kuroo inhales deeply, breaking the fragile balance of the room. Tooru’s not sure his feet are his anymore, when he finally finds the strength to stand. Tooru’s not even sure if he’s really standing, or if it’s just a piece of a broken dream.

He doesn’t turn. His eyes are locked with Sugawara’s, both of them watching each other with matching expressions. Tooru hopes what he sees in Koushi’s eyes are surprise and fear, and not something else.

“Prince Hajime,” Kuroo rasps. “What are you doing here?”

“I asked you something, Oikawa.” Hajime takes a step forward, ignoring Kuroo, ignoring the full room of strangers. “Don’t try to fool me. I’ve read the accords too. I do have the right to be here and to ask you.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Tooru hates his trembling voice. “As stated on those damned accords, this is a mages council.”

“Answer my question.”

Tooru can’t. Instead, he focuses on Sugawara, who’s gaze is traveling from northern to northern. There’s something way too light, in those mad eyes of his.

“Ah, Koushi,” Tooru sighs. “What have you done?”

Sugawara flinches. “I broke into your room, I stole from you. The accords are broken.”

“And you think Hajime can come home, now?” Tooru whispers it, for he doesn’t need anyone else hearing this stupid truth.

Kuroo clears his throat. Tooru ignores him. “You’re more emotional than I thought, Koushi. And more stupid.” Tooru kneels down again, this time letting his fingers caress the cold pearls of Sugawara’s crown. “I need everyone to leave the room,” he says, then, final.

No one moves. Tooru throws a gaze at them, clearly at his limit. “I said: get out. I’m the head of this damned council and I am telling you to _clear the room._ ”

They leave in slow waves. First the westerns, then some of the easterns (Kuroo doesn’t even blink, when he stays put). The southerns are glued to the floor, it seems, for they can’t even move their small toes. The three of them have their gazes in Hajime, a plea clear as day in their eyes.

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Tooru offers them, softly. The only girl in the group looks at him, lips trembling. Tooru’s not sure if it’s fear or rage, what has her so upset.

“War’s not the worst that could happen,” she musters.

Tooru has a nostalgic smile, while he watches them leave the room.

No northern leaves, for Tooru has left all his small minions safe at home, his two soldiers still outside.

Tooru has never really needed any protection, after all.

“You’ve taught them well,” Tooru offers Sugawara. The southern has his eyes fixed on his hands, still tied between his legs. Tooru looks at him a second longer. He barely moves his fingers, a green light breaking the rope in two.

Sugawara inhales, soundly, and caresses his wrists.

“Koushi, you’re a fool, you know that, don’t you?”

“I told you to not play me!” Sugawara can’t even face Tooru, when he yells that.

“And I’m not. You played yourself.”

Sugawara’s one blink away from Tooru’s face in the next second. “I’ve always known your plans! Don’t look down on me! You always thought you had the upper hand, but _I did_!”

“Koushi,” the jokes are gone, Tooru’s voice so serious it’s almost painful to hear. “The only thing I didn’t know were your reasons.”

It’s like a dead sentence, thrown at a hopeful idiot.

“What do you mean?”

“I know your magic, Koushi. Do you really think I wouldn’t smell it, when you tried to break into my secrets the first time?” Tooru stands, then, too tired to keep facing Sugawara’s broken expression. Hajime stays still, silent like a statue. Tooru doesn’t face him, either, because Hajime’s presence —Hajime’s life— it’s the thing that weights the most. “How did you explain yourself how easy it was, the second time you tried?”

Sugawara’s watching Tooru, unable to even blink. “It was months apart,” he stutters. “You didn’t— You couldn’t possible know—”

“Your reasons. I already told you that.”

“Then, why?”

“I would have destroyed your kingdom, if something ever happened to Hajime,” Tooru misses how Hajime starts at that. “We both know a war’s not the worst that could happen. Wars are not a mage’s fight.”

“You know what I stole, don’t you.”

Tooru has to hold the urge of hiding his hands inside his pockets. “Why would you want it, I still can’t understand. Why you thought stealing my contract would break the peace without destroying your kingdom, I don’t know. What were you thinking, Koushi?”

“The accords are gone,” Sugawara insists. “You have to build new ones, now. You have to do it again.”

Tooru snorts. “You’re a fool if you think your kingdom is gonna betray you like that.”

“My mages know what to do.”

It doesn’t make any sense. Tooru’s one sigh away from the answer, from that small, little last piece of this huge puzzle they all are a part of. He knows, gods, he knows the answer must be the simplest of things, and yet, he can’t quite grasp it.

“You’ve seen something again,” Hajime blurts, suddenly. Tooru has no control over his own eyes, gazing at the prince’s furious stance. “Haven’t you?”

Sugawara’s watching the ground again, ashamed.

Tooru’s frozen. He’s drinking from Hajime’s profile as if the rain just started to fall into drought land. He’s way tanner than the last time he saw him, his hair a bit longer, his eyes as intense as always. Tooru can’t breathe but he can’t stop inhaling Hajime’s presence.

Gods, he has missed him so much. It’s a literal pain in his body.

There’s a loud _click_ in Tooru’s mind, when Hajime’s words finally register.

“Oh, Koushi. You _are_ an idiot,” Tooru feels the enlightenment filling his body as if it were an empty vessel. “A foolish, emotional idiot.”

Sugawara cringes, aware of what Tooru’s words really imply. “I told you, I’ve always held the upper hand.”

“That would be true,” Tooru squats and smiles, when Sugawara meets his gaze, “if I hadn’t known.”

“Known what?”

“I didn’t need all the details to distrust you, Koushi.” Sugawara squints. “I always assumed you were the biggest threat.”

Tooru takes Sugawara’s broken crown from the ground. With small amount of magic, the pearls go back into place. Tooru’s hands are gentle, when he puts the crown back into its rightful place.

“Sacrifice it’s a stupid thing to do, you know? I would call it reckless, even. You put your life in danger.” Sugawara’s not happy, if Tooru can read his eyes properly. No, he’s not happy. He’s furious. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I let you get into my domains, I let you take my prince away, I let you stole my contract. You must think I’m an idiot like you, if you believed all of that was not on purpose.”

“I still broke the accords.” Tooru’s amused by Sugawara’s insistence on the damn topic.

“No. Kuroo, be my witness, will you?” Kuroo doesn’t have time to answer, before Tooru makes a paper and a pen appear in his hands. “I, Oikawa Tooru, Royal Mage of the Northern Kingdom, take all responsibility for Sugawara Koushi’s entrance into the Northern Kingom’s territory. He did so following my instructions.”

The words appear in greenish light while Tooru recites them. Kuroo watches the paper fill itself with them. “You can sign it now.” Kuroo doesn’t lose a beat, before following the order. “There you have it,” Tooru smiles at Sugawara. “The accords were never broken.”

“Why are you doing this?” Sugawara hisses. “He wants to go home! He can’t go home, if you keep pushing him away.”

Nor Hajime, nor Tooru move a single finger. They don’t look at each other, but even that’s unnecessary.

“This has become bigger than Hajime, Koushi,” Tooru confesses. “As much as I— As much as… Breaking peace just for him to go back home would mean killing all those people we’ve already seen dying.”

“I would have protected that peace!”

“Killing you off won’t work, either,” Tooru stands. With a single movement of his hand, the ties around Sugawara’s legs break free. “That’s not the peace I want and that’s not the peace I will work for.”

“I killed them!” Sugawara yells. Tooru freezes mid step.

He sees Sugawara trying to get on his feet and failing, his legs too weak for being god knows how long in that damn floor.

Tooru’s too slow, but Hajime isn’t. The prince holds the weight of the mage with ease and helps him sit properly. Kuroo’s still holding the paper with Sugawara’s freedom, his knuckles bone white, his expression pained.

“I killed them,” Sugawara repeats, his gaze glued to the floor. He’s crying. Tooru has the impression he’s deep in shock. “I deserve this.”

“No one died, Koushi,” Tooru reminds him. “What you saw was a vision of a possible future. Hajime’s alive, Tobio’s alive. You would be giving your life for a probability.”

“The will to make it happen again is still in me.”

For the way Sugawara’s holding himself, Tooru realises how much that idea has been poisoning him. Visions are a tricky thing, even for trained mages. For Sugawara and Tooru themselves, visions could literally bring them to madness.

Tooru had always avoided it by focusing on saving Hajime.

What’s the thing Sugawara has been holding into, Tooru wonders. Maybe he doesn’t have something to hold onto anymore. Maybe he never had.

“If you break the accords,” Tooru’s voice’s soft, “that future might become true.”

Sugawara flinches, as if Tooru has just kicked him. Hajime pats him awkwardly on the back, trying to calm him down.

“I have to do this,” Sugawara whispers. “Please, let me make things right.”

“I am,” Tooru sighs deeply. “Keeping you alive it’s what’s right.”

 

 

Tooru tells his king the truth.

It’s difficult, saying those words. Tooru’s not sure if he’d be able to take the king’s distrust, if he doesn’t believe him. But Tooru keeps the words flowing. He talks about Suga and about that dream and the ones that followed. He talks about peace, and peace, and peace.

Peace has become Tooru’s new promise. Tooru’s new contract.

“He stole from you, Mage Oikawa.”

“I made it official: he did it because I asked.”

“That’s not the truth.”

Tooru looks directly to the king’s eyes, defying every law he swore to protect. “The truth won’t keep peace.”

“You’re lying for a southern, now. Is that what we have become? A kingdom of idiots?”

“Mage Sugawara was trying to send Prince Hajime home, Your Highness.”

“And that’s what makes you an idiot, to play against that move.”

“Enough,” the queen’s voice’s soft but it echoes through the room, filling the space and drowning her husband’s blind rage. “Tooru, come closer.”

Tooru complies. He doesn’t look her in the eyes but when she touches his cheek, Tooru can’t but start.

“You love my son very much, don’t you?”

“You know I do, Your Highness.”

The queen smiles. Her thumb caresses Tooru’s cheekbone. It feels like ages, since she’ve done something like this. Maybe it has been. “That’s not how I meant it,” she clarifies, making Tooru blush deeply. “You will give everything for him, wouldn’t you.”

Tooru bites his tongue, before letting her know he already has.

“You’ve grown so much,” the yearning in her voice makes Tooru’s stomach twist. “You were so small and clingy, do you remember, dear?” The king growls and pouts, taking his gaze away from his wife. “You were such a crybaby. Hajime had to run around all the time, fighting soldiers for you and then fighting you. It was endearing.”

“You treated me gently,” Tooru murmurs, full of love.

The queen’s smile is sad. “We could have treated you better. We could have treated you like our own, instead of a mage under our wing.”

Tooru blinks, surprised. “But you did. I always felt like a part of your family.”

Tooru doesn’t know what to do with himself, when he sees the tears start falling free from the queen’s eyes. “Maybe that was the problem,” she whispers. “Maybe we never treated any of our kids as if they were just kids, but tools to build a proper kingdom.”

“What nonsense are you spilling?”, the king stands, suddenly, making Tooru and the queen flinch. The queen’s hand falls away from Tooru’s face, breaking the moment.

“Hajime’s gone,” she says, with fierce. “He’s gone.”

“Because Oikawa sent him away!”

“Because we never told him the truth!”, she’s standing now, too. Tooru can’t move, he can’t stop watching them confront each other, titan against titan. “We treated him like a—like a thing! Instead of trusting our son, we just hid his future and sent him south! Hajime would have found a path for peace! If we—, if we’d told him, he would have found a path for peace.”

“You don’t know that,” the king’s face’s white ash.

“I do know that,” the queen whispers, tears drawing rivers on her cheeks. “Because Tooru would have never let Hajime go to war.”

The words are tender, almost a compliment, but they hit Tooru with the strength of a bull. There it is, something Tooru did not see. In his visions, Hajime always died, because Hajime always went to war. In the last six years, it never occurred to Tooru that same vision could have been biased. That, maybe, it wasn’t a vision at all.

No, it is, it has to be. Hajime died, in thousands of futures. Tooru has seen it too many times to even think otherwise. Koushi’s fears are starting to get into Tooru’s head, that’s all. Hajime could have died, if Tooru hadn’t forced a marriage to save his life. Hajime _would_ have died, if Tooru hadn’t worked with everything he has to build peace.

“I need your consent,” Tooru musters, still shaken by the knowledge that, after all, he doesn’t know anything. “I need you to give me the right to decide.”

“I allowed you to build that damned council,” the king yells, fury and pain dripping from his voice and his tired eyes. “And your partner in crime blew it away.”

“Sugawara Koushi broke the accords to protect your son,” Tooru stands. He can’t take his eyes away from the king’s figure, from his own promise. _Here it is_ , Tooru thinks with pain, _the time to do what I believe it’s right._ “If you had listened to me earlier, if you had listened to me at all, we wouldn’t have ended up here. If you had listened the first time I told you war would be the end of us, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Those borders are there for a reason, Oikawa! A historical enemy doesn’t become one out of fluke.”

“No, of course not. Just out of stubbornness.” The queen starts, at that statement. She hides her eyes behind her hand and shakes her head. Tooru’s not sure if it’s frustration, what’s weighting her shoulders so much. “Tradition can take us so far, Your Highness.”

“Don’t _Your Highness_ me, brat!”, the king turns around, then, giving his back to Tooru. “I have your voice forever engraved in my mind: _war, war, war._ Gods, it feels like it’s the only word you know how to pronounce.”

“I need to fix the accords, Your Highness,” Tooru ignores the king’s words the best he can. Emotions won’t keep peace. At least, not now, when emotions are what have broken its stability. “I need for you to give me political power to make the right choice.”

“I don’t believe you will make the right choice.”

A direct shot. Tooru inhales deeply, quieting his own inner pained screams. “I will make the right choice, but it might not be the one you wish.”

“What are you good for, then?”

“To protect this place,” Tooru points at the thrones. “To protect your remaining heir, the people who follows you, the land you’ve been taking care of for generations,” Tooru can’t take his eyes away from the stiff back of the king. “You need to let go of Hajime, if you want a future for your kingdom.”

The queen’s watching them both with her hand now covering her mouth.

“You have it,” she says, suddenly. The king and Tooru turn around to look at her, both wearing mirroring expressions of surprise. “I give you the power to choose for us; for this kingdom. Just— Just make sure Hajime will be—”

“I will,” Tooru’s promise has almost physical form.

 

No–one’s land has never felt more unwelcoming.

Tooru wonders, sometimes, in the dead of night, how in the world did he end up here, in this exact moment. How, in the name of sacred magic, did he decide to go from no one to saviour. What kind of impossible magic is this, able to destroy everything that Tooru thought of himself.

It may seem hard to believe, but Tooru has this feeling engraved in his soul. A sort of memory, a token from his early childhood. Of that time, when the meaning of life was survival, when selfishness was the only way to keep breathing. Tooru remembers the absolute power of only caring for himself and his mother, and then losing his mother and not caring about anything anymore.

He had cherished those days, when his life was the only thing that mattered (even when kings and queens and princes and soldiers were trying to change his mind) and yet, here he stands now, everything except what he always thought himself to be.

Hajime changed everything. Tooru knows that because that, too, is engraved in his soul. In the darkness hours of his lonely nights, Tooru finds himself wishing Hajime had never chosen him. That Hajime didn’t exist at all. _Wouldn’t it be easier?,_ Tooru would ask himself. But then he would remember a soft hand caressing his head, or trembling fingers taking his tears away. He’d recall how Hajime had always fought for what was right, and how that _right_ always seemed to be Tooru himself.

He has too much power, that prince of his.

Tooru’s remembered as much, when he enters the small room and sees Hajime’s figure. His heart stops for a long second and then starts beating as faster as it can get.

Life and death, that’s what Hajime has always been.

“Where’s Koushi?”

Tooru breathes Hajime’s scent, drinks the view of Hajime’s back. That wide, confident, reliable back Tooru couldn’t love any more, because that’d be humanly impossible. Some things never change, Tooru guesses.

Others, though. Others can never be recovered.

“He’s with Kuroo,” Hajime answers, not turning around. “Being treated.”

“Right,” Tooru musters, his arms around his chest, trying to hold himself together. Tooru wishes Hanamaki had come with him, but the king wasn’t in the best of moods when Tooru departed. “Do you know where—?”

“Don’t let him die,” Hajime orders, rage and tension and something way too sharp.

“I won’t.”

“He doesn’t deserve to die.”

Tooru feels a dark wave of sorrow and jealousy wash over him. “I know. I’m the one who saved him, remember?” Tooru wants to leave and wants to hug him until he comes to his senses, but instead, he mumbles, “Why do you care so much, anyway? He was planning to play you, too.”

“Because he is a good man,” Hajime finally turns and oh gods, he is mad. More than mad, he looks hurt and pained and Tooru wants to die a bit, when he understands why. “He doesn’t deserve to— This is not his fault.”

“No,” Tooru agrees, voice broken and husky. “It isn’t.”

Hajime’s not looking Tooru in the eyes. His fists are tightly closed at his sides, the sword Tooru took from Earth steady and shinny at his hip. The small, wooden replica of it burns against Tooru’s collarbone, where it lays hidden as a pendant.

He had thought it was a token of Hajime’s love, but maybe it was something else. Maybe it had the words _goodbye_ engraved in it, instead of _I love you._

Maybe there were never _I love yous_ anywhere.

“I know it’s not your fault, either,” Hajime whispers, eyes still glued to the floor. Tooru doesn’t allow himself to startle. “I know this is bigger than you and me and Suga. I understand that.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Tooru’s surprised by how angry he sounds. “Say whatever you want to say, but gods, please, don’t lie to me.”

Hajime blinks, surprised, and finally locks his gaze with Tooru’s. “I’m not.”

It is fair, in the cosmic justice of it. Tooru had lied to Hajime for years, how can he now expect something different from his prince? Ask for it? He doesn’t have a right to be hurt by Hajime’s lies. But goddammit, he feels like he’s breaking apart.

“I know I messed it up,” Tooru rushes, his shoulders almost against his ears. He feels tears blurring his vision, but shit, he won’t allow himself to cry now, of all times. “I know I should have told you as soon as I— I’m sorry I forced your marriage without even telling you, okay? I know I fucked it up.”

“What the— Tooru, what are you talking abo—”

“Sorry to interrupt.” Hajime and Tooru flinch as if a bomb has just exploded. They both turn around and face Kuroo, who’s panting, expression tense and serious. “Oikawa, I need you— Everyone’s here,” Kuroo clears his throat. “They don’t look—”

Tooru’s blinking at Kuroo, having problems understanding his words. _The council, the council is happening again, I need to fix the accords, I need to save Koushi._

“They know what you did, Oikawa,” Kuroo’s voice is dark, when he whispers that. “They’re not happy about it.”

“Of course they aren’t,” Tooru’s proud of his voice, when it comes out steady and firm. “I have too much power, now. They will try to destroy it. And me with it, probably.”

Hajime’s looking at him, eyes wide open. “What? You mean, they will try to—?”

“They won’t kill me,” Tooru doesn’t allow himself to take his eyes away from Kuroo. “Where do you stand?”

The western mage shakes his head. “You’re asking too much of me.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Kuroo closes his eyes for a brief second and inhales deeply. “You know I have to look up for my kingdom’s wellbeing. I can’t support you, if you decide to throw peace away.”

“You know better than anyone else peace’s the only thing I care about.”

Tooru ignores the gaze Kuroo throws at Hajime. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Tooru doesn’t dare to answer Kuroo’s expecting gaze.

“Me too.”


	5. The Afterlife

Changes. The inevitability of life, some would say. The lack of change is death, after all. Changes are good. Of course they are.

Hajime does believe in change. In fact, he has learned how changes that otherwise would seem unimportant, affect everything surrounding them. Like a small stone, dropped at a calm lake. Hajime knows changes mean growth and happiness on the long run.

He _knows_ it, but gods, does he hate it.

It’s been two years since he stood here, in this room. Two years, since he left without saying a word, angry and furious and full of resentment. Such a short time that still feels like a lifetime.

He feels awkward. It’s home, after all, but home doesn’t look as he remembers it. It’s gloomier, pale and plain. Hajime hates the southern customs of wearing shinny clothes like any other northern and yet, here he stands, missing it like a sunflower misses the sun.

The rooms are a problem, too. Due to the cold of northern weather, the castle was built with a noticeable lack of windows. Hajime had never realised how little there were until now, that he’s craving sunlight like a man condemned to prison.

The guilt turns into a stone that locks itself on his throat. After two years of absence, after absolute silence from his part, he’s finally here, but he can but wish he was anywhere else.

Hajime always thought he wanted to go back home. But now here he is, and the only thing he really wants is to run away. But run away where? There’s nowhere Hajime can go back, now.

A prince without a kingdom. What a joke.

“And the prodigal son comes back from war.”

Hajime flinches and barely moves, when a strong arm hugs his shoulders. He’s stiff and tense but when Hanamaki’s laugh caresses his ear, Hajime feels the weight of his guilt dissolve inside his stomach.

He smiles at his friend, a bit of exasperation, a bit of yearning, that absolute love he had forgotten he held, inside his oblivious chest.

“You’re heavy,” Hajime muffles, frowning in pretend. Hanamaki chuckles and tights his hug for a long second that warms Hajime’s heart.

He might not have a place to go back, but gods, he is one lucky bastard, isn’t he.

“Well, my prince, two years of lazing around would take anyone’s strength away. Don’t torture yourself over that weak ass of yours.”

“Who are you calling weak, asshole?”

Hanamaki laughs when Hajime hits his head. The soldier caresses the back of his neck, smile still plastered in his lips. Hajime looks at him properly, then, to all those small details Hanamaki’s smile cannot hide. Like the dark shadows under his eyes or the sad curve his mouth falls into, when the soldier’s not forcing himself to keep his lips lifted.

“You look… different.”

Hanamaki blinks, as if Hajime noticing that is the weirdest thing he’s ever heard. “Well, two years is a long time,” he says it as the fact it is, but it hurts Hajime nonetheless. Going away was never Hajime’s doing, but the two years of silence was; the departure without a goodbye was.

“It is.”

“You’ve changed too,” Hanamaki’s smile has a hint to it that Hajime can’t quiet comprehend. “You look… stronger.”

“You just called me weak,” Hajime rolls his eyes. Hanamaki chuckles again.

“I meant it more in a sort of—,” the soldier waves his hand, as if that explained it, “vibe?”

“A vibe,” Hajime can hear the frustration in his voice. “You suck at talking.”

“For your information, I’m an amazing Captain and everyone loves me.”

“Fears you would be more accurate.”

Hanamaki’s smirk is sharp. “I like that thought.”

Hajime shakes his head in disbelief. He will never, ever tell Hanamaki, but he has missed this. The casual talk, the friendly touch, the easiness with which he can be and breath and exist. Being a northern in southern land hadn’t been that difficult, but it was still enemy’s territory. As much as Suga and the rest of the mages had taken him under their wing, Hajime was still a northern prince. Even when the king and queen had given him the southern citizenship when he saved Hinata that first summer, Hajime could always feel the gazes of distrust glued at his back.

“It’s good to be home,” he musters, more to himself than to Hanamaki.

Hajime’s not fond of the sad smile Hanamaki gives him.

“I’m glad to hear that. When you left…” Hanamaki clicks his tongue and caresses the back of his neck again, as if remembering Hajime’s hit. “Things weren’t easy. For anyone. I know it sucked for you, man, but gods, you should have seen what a mess this ended up being. I never thought I would have to be the one keeping it together.”

“I’m really sorry,” Hajime doesn’t want to be, he doesn’t even want to say it, but goddammit, the guilt is killing him like a poison. “I should—”

“Nah,” Hanamaki shrugs and inhales deeply, composing himself. Hajime has to hold his hand, before slapping his fake smile away. It’s a smile way too familiar, for Hajime has seen it countless times in Tooru’s lips. He hates it. “Don’t need to feel sorry. Just— Talk to them, this time. Really really talk to them,” Hanamaki’s innuendo makes Hajime grimace. “You should have acted like yourself before you left. You should have confronted them. Man, I can’t believe you pulled an Issei without even blinking.”

“That _is_ unfair,” Hajime’s frown deepens. “I am _not_ like my brother.”

“I know you aren’t, but you totally behaved like him,” the bitter statement is way too raw. Hajime ignores it, but still saves it for another conversation, in an easier time. “I still don’t understand how you, from all people, would ran away like you did.”

Well, Hajime takes that crashing punch the best he can (his best actually sucks, but Hajime pretends to not notice it). Hanamaki’s not but honest, has always been. But still, dammit, those words are a direct hit to Hajime’s mistakes, that had been lining up like domino pieces waiting to be put into motion.

“I wasn’t thinking properly.”

“No kidding.” Hajime can’t but hit Hanamaki’s chest with his elbow, when the soldier rolls his eyes.

“I’m not excusing myself, okay? I know I fucked it up. I know I’m in the wrong here too. I know that,” Hajime’s losing his temper and his chill, but Hanamaki doesn’t seem eager to help him recover it. “We all know that. So why in the name of god did Tooru apologise to me? After he saved this kingdom, finally building peace. After he saved Suga when he didn’t have to. After— After what he did two days ago. Why would he apologise to me?”

“That’s like, the easiest answer in the world.”

“Well, it’s not easy for me!”

Hanamaki shakes his head, his hand covering his eyes. “My, my. These princes nowadays,” he looks like the exact representation of a man who’s gone through too much bullshit to even cope with it anymore. Hajime growls, when he hears him sigh with extreme exaggeration. “Are you all this stupid, or is it just our kingdom, that got the worst cards?”

Hajime hits him again. “Next time, I will fight you for real,” Hajime’s voice’s flat and pure threat. Hanamaki smiles widely at him.

“We both know I’d win.”

Hajime smiles back. “Wanna lose that bet?”

“I will,” Hanamaki pats Hajime’s shoulder, seriousness filling his features, “once you talk with your family. Clear things up and then, we can do whatever you want.”

Hajime feels Hanamaki’s words have a hidden meaning behind them. He doesn’t thank his friend, but deep down relief washes over him.

At least someone would understand, when Hajime tells everyone he doesn’t want to stay.  
  
  


 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They are four, the first time they fight.

It’s not the same day Hajime puts his finger up and points at a small crybaby with dirty clothes and dirty face, but sometimes it feels like it. Time has a way of disappearing, when memories are involved.

During their official meeting, that’s when they fight for the first time. They are both wearing nice and fancy clothes, Hajime even has a tiny, beautiful and shiny crown above his head. Tooru—still the stranger who Hajime had to choose, because he looked way too sad to not do so— is wearing a deep greenish jacket, lines of gold at its collar and cuffs. There are no marks of his tears, and if he had ever been a poor kid from the worst part of the city, no one can tell.

Hajime’s nervous. It’s the pressure of the crown, way too big for his still too small head. It’s the way the mage’s looking around, with rage and vile and anger. Hajime feels his heart fill his chest and then explode, but because he’s a prince, he stays still and swallows his stomach. Mom and dad would kill him, if Hajime dears to throw up in a moment like this.

Hajime feels sweat fill his closed hands and he hopes he won’t have to shake anyone’s.

The head of the Royal Mages, mage Irihata, muffles under his nose. Hajime flinches, when the older mage pats his new apprentice on the back, forcing him to step forward.

“Well, kiddo, time to show your respects. That’s the prince that saved your life, after all.”

He doesn’t look saved. In fact, he doesn’t look thankful or happy or even comfortable. Hajime’s way too caught by the strength of the tiny mage’s hate to fully understand that he’s looking back at him. The mage _is looking back at Hajime._

Hajime craws and takes a step back, alerting everyone in the room. Mage Irihata grabs his apprentice’s nape and pulls him back, but the kid’s not taking his gaze away. Hajime’s way too fascinated by those burning eyes to realise the soldiers have surrounded them.

“What did I tell you? You don’t look your royals in the eyes,” Irihata’s raged whisper is as loud as the soldiers armours cracking while they move.

“Let me go,” the kid growls in answer.

Hajime barely moves, when he sees the soldiers around him draw their swords. He watches them with eyes wide open, a hand closing around his throat. The danger lingers in the air like condensed water.

“Let me go! I don’t want to be a royal mage! Let me go!”

The wave of energy puts them all back flat to the ground. Hajime’s fascinated, fear forgotten (although he should be scared to death, for the way the little mage’s panting, still watching Hajime, promising nothing else but painful oblivion).

Hajime’s four, after all. And stubborn. And with a tendency to pick up wounded animals and care them to health. Hajime’s a weak soul, for the pained ones. He can’t help himself, when he stands without even realising. He doesn’t even know his hand is rising until he’s one centimetre away from the mage’s cheek.

“Don’t touch me!”

Hajime falls again. His head hits the ground a bit too hard, making his sight double. Hajime hears himself whimper, a direct reaction to the throbbing pain from his skull. But although his vision is quite blurry and he’s not even sure if he’s moving his body even when he’s telling it to do so, there’s something else that has captivated his attention.

See, Hajime’s a prince. He might be only four, but princes are nothing more than polite machines when they are four. He’s played around, sometimes, yes. He has broken the rules some others, but those small acts of rebellion have always been harmless. Hajime has always wanted freedom but has found himself deprived of it. _Follow the rules_ , that’s how a kingdom keeps its state. That’s how things stay the way they should.

Hajime’s mind doesn’t know how to put all those emotions into thoughts, when he stares at the ceiling he’s seeing for the first time. He recalls he has spent hours and hours in this same room, but it’s now, for the first time, that he sees what has been always hidden above his head. A night sky, filled with stars. A deep dark blue that almost shines in silvers, when the light of the morning reflexes on the marbled ground.

He spends so much time fascinated by this new discovery, he forgets about the other one. Hajime’s head has stopped spinning when he finally sits, facing the soldiers. They have the little mage pined to the ground, a huge and heavy knee forcefully keeping him glued to the floor.

“You little shit! You will die for this, do you hear me?”, the soldier yells, way too close to the small one’s ear. “Attacking a royal is a capital offence!”

Fear shoots through Hajime’s veins, making his heart bump with fury. Paralysed by the scene, he barely flinches when he turns around, expecting the immensity of his parents to stop this perverse charade.

But the king and queen are just watching in silence, a tense string pulling both their lips downwards. As if saying: _this was inevitable from the start, can’t help it_. As if they were not condemning a kid, who was hurt, who was lost, who was in pain, to the absolute power of their claws.

“Stop!” Hajime hears the echo of his voice, but he’s barely aware he has talked. His hands are trembling, badly. He’s in front of the soldier and the mage, before he realises he has even started walking. “Please? Stop?”, it comes out small and insecure and Hajime hates it. A prince should never be weak, when he’s in the position to protect those who need his strength.

“But, my prince… He attacked you. I can’t allow—”

“I, I attacked him first,” Hajime lies, quivering. The soldier arches an eyebrow, but doesn’t dare contradict him. “Please, stand.”

The silence is thick like blood, in the seconds the soldier takes to follow his prince’s order. Hajime might be four, but he’s still the prince. His words are law, when the only two other persons in the room with higher rank don’t oppose him.

The mage stays face flat on the floor. Hajime can hear his shallow breathing, but doesn’t dare to approach him. Instead, he squints, his tiny arms around his knees in an attempt to become smaller and inoffensive.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t want to be your mage,” the muffled voice comes out broken. Hajime feels his stomach sink to the floor, pure guilt filling his mouth. He’s never tasted anything worse.

“I’m—sorry…” Hajime whispers. He’s suddenly bothered by all the gazes around, by the tragedy of all this. He doesn’t want to be an spectacle. He doesn’t want to turn this into another anecdote his parents would tell at dinner.

But after the little mage has thrown the prince to the ground (Hajime won’t call it an attack, because it wasn’t), no one would leave them both alone. The only way to keep it a secret is to make his voice become a secret as well. A small world, near the shinning colours of the marbled ground.

“I thought you were cool,” Hajime offers, his voice still small.

“Liar.”

Hajime’s about to tell another lie, when something weird and new stops him. It’s another kind of guilt, but its taste’s not as bad, the aftertaste’s not as painful.

“I thought you needed…”

“I don’t need anything! I was okay with my mom—“ Hajime flinches, when he hears a sob. “I just wanna go home…”

“This is also a cool home…” but Hajime understands. Of course he does. Mothers are a magic on their own. No castle, name or gold could ever buy the beauty of them, could never compare. “If you want your mom, I can make her come here. You can both stay here.”

The mage doesn’t answer, but his sobs increase. Hajime sees him trying to hug himself, still laying on the ground. The rest of the room is dead silent, everyone looking at the small body that’s breaking apart without even attempting to help him.

Hajime wants to scream at them (just scream, really), but instead he lets his knees fall into the ground and he awkwardly pats the back of the mage, startling him. “Uh, sorry? Uhm, you don’t like the castle?”

The mage finally raises his head. Hajime’s really proud of himself, when he doesn’t react to the intense gaze that locks with his. If the situation wasn’t such, Hajime would swear the mage’s watching him as if he was the stupidest person he’s ever meet.

“I don’t care about the castle.”

Hajime nods, as if understanding it. “It’s the food, right?”

His mother gasps, behind him. The mage only furrows more. “What? No, I don’t care about the food. I told ya’, I wanna go home,” the mage titles his head. “You’re stupider than I thought.”

The sound of swords been drawn fills the room again, but Hajime and the mage are now in their personal world, where adults don’t matter. Hajime doesn’t take his eyes away from the mage, the rush of it making his heart flutter.

“Maybe,” Hajime agrees. He’s not sure how smart the mage thought him to be, and Hajime hasn’t been sure of his own decisions since his parents have started to force him to take them, anyway. “What is you don’t like?”

The mage takes his eyes away, then. Hajime feels it, the change of it. He has never been confronted by anyone in the way the mage has done, and it’s addictive. Better than any sweet, better than any run or sword or broken rule.

“I told ya’ already. I wanna go home.”

“You mean, you want your mom,” the mage starts. “Will you be my mage, if she comes here?” The mage shakes his head. “Why not?”

“My mom— She’s sick,” Hajime’s hand moves on its own accord and pats the mage again, softly. “She’s not— I can’t save her. I’m not—,” the mage growls, then, and shakes his shoulders strong enough to force Hajime’s hand to fall away. “I don’t want to be a royal mage.”

“What you wanna be?”

Hajime’s truly interested in the answer, when the mage’s eyes open widely to the question.

“I, uh, I wanna be a traveler.”

As small as their shinny world is, Hajime can’t avoid seeing how Mage Irihata shakes his head, extremely ashamed by his apprentice’s words.

“Like an adventurer!”

“No,” the mage barely shakes his head, making his hair fall into his eyes. Hajime leans a bit closer, fascinated by them, by the honest line of his lips. It’s the first time Hajime feels the mage’s been completely true, with himself, and with Hajime. “Not like an adventurer, just— I just wanna see things, I wanna learn things.”

Those words are almost soundless. Hajime hears them, because he’s nearly glued to him by now, but he’s probably the only one who does. Mage Irihata mumbles something under his nose, while the soldiers are still holding the hilt of their swords.

Hajime treasures that secret, as if it were the worthiest thing in the world.

“Then, you will be,” he promises, (first of many, as important as all of the ones that would follow, but still the strongest Tooru will ever remember). “I will make you one.”

The mage’s eyes are wide and pure and clear. Hate and fear forgotten, as if they were never there, as if a single dream could clean them away. “Really?”

“Really,” Hajime nods vigorously. “What’s your name?”

“Oikawa,” the mage wiggles, until he’s coping Hajime’s kneeled position. “Oikawa Tooru.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mage Oikawa,” Hajime shakes Tooru’s trembling hand, then, and smiles broadly when the mage blinks in surprise (Hajime likes to think it’s not for the disgusting sweat on the palm of his hand). “I will be in your care from now on!”

Hajime leans forward, almost crashing his nose with the mage’s. Before any of the adults around can react and push them apart, Hajime whispers:

“I promise, I will give you what makes you happy, so… be my mage?”

Hajime’s laughing, when a soldier pulls him away. The mage’s watching the ground now, a small blush on his cheeks, a small smile on his lips. Hajime has the strength of the mage’s nod engraved in his forehead.

His giggles don’t stop until he’s dragged out of the room.  


 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

 

Tooru’s fighting the king, when Hajime enters the throne room.

The mage’s kneeling, his face twisted to the side. From this far Hajime can’t barely see his expression, but by the tense line of his back, it’s clear as day his mage is pissed.

“It’s stupid!”, the king roars. “Do you think I will accept this idiotic idea?”

“You have no other option, Your Highness,” Tooru’s voice’s steady like iron. “You gave me power to choose. So I did.”

“You didn’t choose,” the king spits. “You made this! This was your idea!”

“What did you want, then?” Tooru snaps back. He’s forcing himself so much to keep his gaze on the ground, Hajime can see the muscles throb on his neck. “A war? Would you have preferred for me to send them to hell and then come back and tell Issei it was his turn to go and die?”

“How dare you—“

“Enough!” Hajime halts, when he sees his mother. He hasn’t realised she’s here, until her strong voice quiets the room. “This discussion is pointless,” the queen rises and faces her king, tall and proud and hurt, her fists full of sad rage. “I won’t see my son die in a senseless war! Do you hear me?” She turns around and faces the mage. “Tooru, this,–this choice– is yours. You are the one who will have to bear it.”

Hajime feels a hand closing tight around his heart, choking him, the implications of his mother’s words way too heavy to even breathe.

“I know,” Tooru doesn’t seem surprised by her words. “I understand why it has to be me.”

“Because we can’t trust you!” The king words make no sense, for Tooru being sent as a consorted mage to another kingdom bears the biggest of responsibilities.

“I wish–“, the queen’s looking at Tooru, now, tenderness filling her eyes. “I wish it wouldn’t have to be like this.”

“This is the way it has to be,” Tooru says, softly. “I made the accords, I made the council, I saved Kou–, Mage Sugawara. If I don’t show my will —Your Highnesses’ will— to trust them with my life, it’ll all be pointless.”

“Sacrifice is a stupid thing to do,” Hajime says then, loud, echoing Tooru’s words.  The three of them start, when Hajime’s voice travels around the room.

Tooru doesn’t move from where he’s kneeled, but Hajime sees him closing his eyes and holding his breath. If Hajime weren’t as concerned with his parents as he actually is, the sight of his pained expression would have hurt like a sword’s stab.

Hajime doesn’t allow his gaze to linger in the curve of his back, though, for his mother’s presence’s way too demanding. Hajime couldn’t ignore it, even if he wanted it.

He doesn’t want to.

Gods, it’s been centuries, or at least it feels that way. His parents look older, white that wasn’t there shinning in their hairs. His mother looks way paler, way thinner, the tight line of her lips a trembling attempt to keep her emotions at bay. Hajime has to press the back of his feet to the ground, before his instinct makes him run into her arms.

“Mom, dad,” he says, voice hoarse. “It’s been—a while.”

The queen sobs, when Hajime forces his feet to calmly move, taking him closer to his parents. The king clears his throat several times, but never takes his gaze away from Hajime’s approaching figure. They are both staring at him, as if Hajime’s nothing else than a ghost.

Maybe he is. Maybe, for them, this is nothing more than a dream.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” Hajime finally whispers, two steps before reaching the throne.

His parents move in a blink of an eye. Before Hajime realises what’s going on, the queen and king have both their arms around their son’s shoulders, their faces hidden on the base of his neck. Hajime doesn’t move for a long second, before the first sob shakes him, head to toes.

The tears wet his collarbone, his shirt, his shoulder. Hajime stands there, surprised beyond repair, and says nothing, does nothing. He wants to comfort them, _I’m here now, I’m safe now,_ but when he opens his mouth, no sound comes out. Instead, as if for reflex, his eyes get filled with tears of their own, and biting his lower lip, Hajime lets them fall. They burn, in their way down, almost as much as his parents’ tears are marking his skin. The warmth of their embrace feels like a cocoon, but instead of protecting him from the world outside, it’s healing what Hajime has been hiding in for years. Not only the unsaid goodbyes, or the betrayal he had felt. It’s an older wound, one Hajime didn’t even know he had.

After a while, when the sobs have come and gone over the painful state and have calmed down, Hajime feels his mother’s lips against his temple, his father’s face hidden against Hajime’s hair. The three of them are breathing shallowly, but when Hajime dares to look back at his mother, the only thing that’s filling her expression is absolute joy. That one, the special one that comes from the most absolute love.

Hajime’s heart stutters, when he recognises that look. He can’t recall the last time he has seen it.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Hajime bursts, tears still running free, eyes swollen. “I’m so sorry.”

She’s shaking her head before Hajime can finish his sentence.

“Why do you apologise, my love? You have nothing to feel sorry for,” she closes her eyes, as if pain has gotten the best of her again. “We should be the ones apologising, not you,” her voice breaks.

“We are so sorry, Hajime,” the king’s voice reverberates through Hajime’s skull, filling his ear with the king’s guilt as if it were water. “We should have never forced you to go.”

“We should have never lied to you,” the queen adds, both of them hugging Hajime tighter.

Hajime has the impression they are afraid he’s going to disappear if they stop touching him.

A stone gets stuck in Hajime’s throat, when that thought comes to him. _You need to really talk to them, this time._ Hanamaki’s voice echoes in Hajime’s mind, a heavy reminder.

“I— I’m not… You don’t need to apologise either,” he stutters, and breathes in deeply, smelling them both, that mix of tree and flower and family. It makes Hajime’s heart become something tender and weak. “I don’t want you to apologise. You did what— you thought was right. The lies were wrong, but it’s okay now. It’s okay. That’s why I—” Hajime clears his throat when his parents lean away, watching him with eyebrows furrowed. “I need to tell you something.”

Hajime has forgotten it, the power of mothers. His father has never been a mind-reader, not like the queen is. When her eyes get filled with tears again, flowing like rivers in a silent storm, Hajime’s heart, already weakened, breaks into pieces.

And rebuilt itself again, when she hugs him once more, her kisses around Hajime’s ear and his cheek and his temple a silent caress, conveying everything her mouth cannot put into words.

“Oh.”

The king’s not as forgiven, but Hajime already knows that. He looks at him, when his father takes a step back and disentangles himself from their embrace.

“You are leaving again,” he says, matter of fact.

“I am,” Hajime’s voice trembles.

“Why?”

Hajime tries to look for an answer and then he opens his mouth and tries to voice it, but it’s impossible. At the end, he just shrugs and hopes with all his might the king will understand.

“You just came back,” the whisper is full of betrayal and sadness and pain and Hajime, caretaker for life, feels the pull of his stomach at the sight. “You just— We haven’t seen you for two years.”

“I won’t leave right away.”

“But you will leave eventually.”

Hajime shakes his head and presses his lips together, the weight of emotion way too heavy for him. “I have to,” he whispers, voice shaken. “I can’t stay here anymore. I don’t— I don’t—”

He’s unable to say that truth, for it holds enough power to tear the kingdom apart. How can you tell your parents, your kingdom, that you don’t belong here anymore? What words hold enough healing power to send a painless death sentence?

Hajime doesn’t know any, so he keeps his lips shut. He just stares at his father and he hopes the king will accept Hajime’s will, at least this time.

The prince, however, hasn’t really processed yet how painful his own absence has been, nor how much it has disturbed the balance of the palace all this years. Hajime doesn’t even see the king rush with fierce towards Hajime and pass him, yelling:

“This is your fault!”

Hajime has forgotten Tooru’s still here, in the corner of their lives, like always. As if he has never belonged.

Tooru, still on his knees, startles. He’s way too surprised to keep his gaze on the ground, and he ends up staring at the king with disbelief.

“This is your fault,” it’s not as strong as before, but Hajime can see crystal clear how much those words affect Tooru. He’s getting paler by the second, his hands trembling against his knees. “He— He’s going to leave again and you…”

“I didn’t—”

“It’s your fault!”

Hajime’s already moving, when he sees his father's arm starting to rise. He’s holding the king’s arm before the hit can even take form, but it still makes Hajime furious.

“What are you doing?”

The king blinks at Hajime several times, before his gaze travels to his own wrist, where Hajime’s fingers are leaving bruises. The moment lingers a bit too much, before the king lets his arm fall dead at his side.

Hajime lets him go with distrust, never stepping away from between his father and Tooru.

“This is not Tooru’s fault,” Hajime says, calm but angry.

The king’s unable to hold Hajime’s gaze. “Do you hear me, father? You both chose to lie to me, chose to send me away. How can you put all the blame on him, when he has made possible what we could have never achieved without him?”

The king grimaces at Hajime’s words. Something must have reached him, for he looks back at Hajime and states in fury, “He’s the one who saw you dying. He’s the one who made us believe the only way there was to save you was to send you away.”

Hajime’s stomach drops to the floor at that. Sugawara had explained the basics of the truths everyone had kept from Hajime, but not all of it. Hajime recalls all the memories he has with Tooru, of sword plays, of saying the wrong thing and apologising, of smiles and laughs and kisses and bonds.

His heart breaks a bit, when he understands what Tooru has been going through all this time, alone. Always alone, because people has never been on Oikawa Tooru’s side.

“He saved me,” Hajime says, slowly. There’s a nasty thing growing inside his chest, something dark and filthy, but two years with Sugawara and his mice has taught Hajime a world of knowledge. He’s not volatile anymore. He can think, now, even when hate’s burning his blood away. “He built peace. He saved Koushi and then _built peace again_. He has saved me countless times. He has saved you, and mom,” the king inhales soundly, shame painting his expression. “You love him,” at Hajime’s words, the king takes a step back, as if he can’t take them. “You love him,” Hajime repeats and his mother starts to cry in silence once more. “You raised him as you’ve raised us. You treated his wounds and took care of him when he was sick. You taught him how to ride a horse and how to lie to mom, for fuck’s sake.”

Well, so much for keeping his cool, Hajime thinks, but at least he’s able to express his emotions. Better than before, anyway.

“Why are you punishing him, now?” Hajime whispers, a bit broken. He’s not sure if it’s his own pain, or if he’s voicing what Tooru has always been too scared to even think.

“I—, I—,” the king gaze flutters between Hajime and Tooru, who’s still kneeling behind him. Hajime doesn’t know what expression Tooru’s wearing right know or if he’s even still here, but he doesn’t move. “I don’t— You were gone,” his father finally says. “You were gone and he had sent you away. I just—”

“It’s not his fault,” Hajime states. “He never…”

“Please, stop,” Tooru’s voice’s barely a whisper, but Hajime hears it as if it were an explosion. Hajime tenses when he hears Tooru sniff. “I don’t want this. It’s okay, Ha— Prince Hajime. It’s okay now, that you are safe and peace will—”

“It’s not okay,” he doesn’t turn around nor does he face Tooru, but his voice carries enough strength to shut him up. “You know it’s not okay,” he tells his father, making the king start. “How could you—”

“You don’t understand!”

“Damn right I don’t! He’s your son as much as I am!”

“No!” The king yells, quietening even the earth. The word is a real slap, for all of them. “You are the prince, Hajime, don’t you understand? You are the prince.”

“Not anymore.”

Hajime turns around, then, too tired to face his father’s blindness. Tooru’s still on his knees, face pointing at his hands. There are wet spots in front of his legs, silent tears Hajime hates with all his might.

He ignores his father’s gasp, when he kneels in front of Tooru. The mage doesn’t rise his gaze, although for how his shoulders stiffen, Hajime knows he has seen him.

They are centimetres away, almost a whisper for them to touch. Hajime’s heart bursts into happiness and yearning, fear filling him. It’s overwhelming, but gods, Hajime can’t barely recall the last time he felt this alive.

“Tooru,” the mage flinches. “Tooru, look at me.”

“Hajime, what—”

“Dear, shut up,” the queen says, her voice a sharp edge. The king complies.

“Tooru.” The mage shakes his head, his hands trembling on his lap. Hajime sighs. “Do you remember the promise I made?”

“You’ve made several,” Tooru whispers, voice hoarse. Hajime smiles a bit, happy that he’s at least answering him.

Instead of explaining further, Hajime says, “Do you really want to become a consorted mage, Tooru?” Hajime’s voice’s small and tender, as if he’s trying to win a scared animal’s trust.

Tooru looks as if he just stopped breathing. “It’s what has to be done.”

“That was not my question.”

“Your question doesn’t have an answer, because it’s not a question that can exist.”

“Tooru.” Hajime reaches forward and pushes his hair away, caressing his temple. He sees Tooru blink, as if the touch hurt, but he doesn’t force Hajime’s hand away. “What do you want?”

What a complicated question. Hajime knows the answers are infinite and all of them would be true. Hajime also knows there are two answers he’s dying to hear coming out of Tooru's lips, but he doesn't voice his own wants.

“My want and my need are worthless,” Tooru finally whispers, still watching his hands, deep in thought. Hajime’s hand doubts in its touch, scared of this passive being he has never seen before.

Watching Tooru cry in silent submission is like a revelation.

There’re changes in life that are inevitable and uncontrollable. Death, sickness, the force of nature. Some elements have absolute power over us and we have to learn to accept them as life itself, because we can’t avoid them, nor can we change the change itself. Hajime realises, with his hand still near Tooru’s temple, in the second that fear shots through his system, he has always taken every single change in his life as a matter of fact. A force of nature, inevitable, unchangeable.

But here, kneeled in front of this man he had chosen and he has loved for as long as he can remember, in the brisk of running away again, Hajime finally understands he has always had a choice. Some things are inevitable, yes, but the way we change the change has always been human choice.

Hajime knows Tooru has sensed he’s about to give up on him. Again. Hajime knows because he sees Tooru’s tears increase, he sees Tooru’s hands get tighter around each other. _He has always known me better than I knew myself,_ Hajime realises. _He has always taken care of me, better than I’ve taken care of him._

Tooru has always been incredible and Hajime’s mad as hell with himself, to only realise now how amazing he actually is.

It’s not a thought that takes form, because by this point Hajime has given up on thinking whatsoever. He leans forward and hugs Tooru tight out of instinct, maybe finally finding his gut’s will after years of doubting he even had it.

Tooru gasps, the king gasps. Hajime doesn’t acknowledge any of them, he puts his arms around Tooru’s shoulders and forces the mage’s head to fall against his chest. And there he stays, a prison of flesh.

“What are—”

“I won’t run again,” Hajime promises with fierce. “I won’t go away anymore. So lean on me, okay? You can lean on me, Tooru. So please, please, don’t hide anymore.”

Hajime feels Tooru’s hands close in tight grips on his shirt. Tooru needs two trembling breaths before breaking into loud sobs. They are so strong both of their bodies are shaking. Hajime feels emotionally beaten, and yet, he is finally at peace. When Tooru had started to build distance between them Hajime had started to lose his balance, too. He hasn’t realised how lonely he’d been, how left behind, until this exact moment.

Tooru hasn’t stopped crying when Hajime pleads, “Don’t become a consorted mage.”

Tooru leans back, not breaking Hajime’s hug entirely but getting away enough so he can look him directly to the eyes.

“What?”

“Don’t become a consorted mage.”

“Are you nuts? The only reason the other kingdoms agreed to build peace again was me being consorted.”

“No,” Hajime shakes his head. “I read the contract. They don’t want you here anymore, because you have too much power. But,” Tooru’s watching him with eyes wide open, maybe surprised by the fact that Hajime has been trying to keep Tooru safe since the very beginning, “But what if you are not any kingdom’s mage?”

Tooru’s shaking his head in disbelief. “What do you mean, no kingdom’s mage? I _have_ a contract with— Oh,” when the light shines in Tooru’s eyes, Hajime has to remind himself his parents are two steps behind him, before he throws himself forward and kisses him senseless. Gods, what a sight. “Oh. Hajime, what— You can’t really mean—.”

“I promised you, didn’t I,” Tooru’s head’s still moving side to side, as if he has problems accepting that, for once, something can be on his side. “I promised I’d make you a traveler.”

“Hajime, you are the prince of this kingdom,” Tooru whispers and there’s so much love on that single sentence that Hajime would have been put into his knees, if he wasn’t already there. Hajime closes his eyes on reflex, when Tooru’s hand caresses his cheek. It feels like a dream. “This is your home.”

“Home will always be here,” Hajime answers. He doesn’t open his eyes for a long second, enjoying the warmth of Tooru’s hand against his face. “I can’t be the heir anymore. I’m sorry,” although he doesn’t turn around, everyone on the room knows his words are not for Tooru but for his parents. “Being the king would ask too much of me. It’s a responsibility I won’t be able to properly carry.”

“Hajime.” The prince  opens his eyes at the sound of his name. He holds Tooru’s hand against his cheek with his own, and smiles broadly.

“It’s not only about you, I promise. I need this, too. And I’d love to do it with you, Tooru, if you’d allow me.”

“What are you saying, Hajime?” The king’s voice sounds broken.

Hajime breathes in deeply, and letting go of Tooru, turns around, still on his knees. It feels just right, when he hides his face and bows at his father.

“Father, I ask you to remove me from my title and give me permission to become a traveler, together with Mage Oikawa.”

“A traveler? What—?”

“We will travel around the four lands, we will learn and recollect information. Since Mage Oikawa’s still the head of the council, all the knowledge he acquires would be of public reach.”

“But Hajime, Tooru swore—,” his mother’s words fall, when she, too, understands. “Oh.”

“He’s not the Northern kingdom’s mage, mom,” Hajime voices her thoughts. “He has always been mine.”

“If you are not the prince anymore and both of you travel around for the sake of the council—”

“—Oikawa won’t owe any kingdom his magic and his knowledge. He won’t be biased anymore.”

“You’re still a northern, Hajime,” Tooru musters. “I am a northern. We will always be biased.”

“Not on paper. Not if you are the head of the council. They can’t kick you out, yet, and they won’t if you work for the sake of magic, and not for the sake of a single kingdom.”

When Tooru sniffs, Hajime sighs deeply and goes back where he was sitting before, just in front of him.

“Why are you doing this?”

What a stupid question, isn’t it? It has, after all, the easiest of answers.

“Because I love you, dumbass, what other reason would it be?”

When Tooru smiles after a second of surprise, Hajime feels it on his skin like a physical thing: the kiss of the sunlight, the caress of the wind. It’s like a natural change, inevitable, unchangeable. Hajime’s not even aware of anything else, when he leans forward and leaves above Tooru’s lips the simplest of kisses.

It will become one of the most precious memories Hajime will hold dear, in the years to come. The tender touch of Tooru’s lips, still smiling. The absolute joy of finally finding what has been lost for too long. Hajime, when he grows old, he will look back at this moment and he will be able to hear their giggles and he will feel alive.

And he will remember. He will remember that changes are our choices and that him, being four, had put into motion the best of them all.

And his name is Oikawa Tooru.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL, WELL, WELL, IF YOU'VE GOTTEN HERE IT MEANS YOU'VE READ THE WHOLE THING AND I WANT TO THANK YOU PROFUSELY. I hope you've enjoyed it! /I know it's weird as fuck, but well, a baby is a baby nonetheless./
> 
> For the side stories, the (probable) order will be: Suga's story (daisuga), Makki's and Matsun's, and Kuro's (kuroken). I don't know where the iwaoi road trip (BECAUSE THAT'S TOTALLY WHAT THEY ARE DOING AREN'T THEY CUTE) will fit (since I'm planning to keep developing the political situation in everyone of the other stories) but it will come. 
> 
> That's all, I guess. If you have questions or wanna scream into the void about haikyuu and iwaoi and the beauty of life, here you have my [writing/blog](http://negare-boshi.tumblr.com) and my [main/blog.](http://ellehletoile.tumblr.com)
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, leaving kudos and commenting! It's always lovely to see you've liked it <3.


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